Scars in the Moonlight
by Kita.Rain
Summary: Most of Lily Potter's protections fell through after that Halloween- every arrangement she made to ensure her daughter would be safe should the worst happen. The only parts that worked banished Voldemort and ensured Kitty's mind would always be her own. Unfortunately, nobody realized the second bit.
1. Revelations of Abnormality

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K. Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox.**

 **AN: So this is a story I've been working on for some time. I've plotted it out all the way to post-Hogwarts, where it will eventually cross over, but until then the crossover will largely irrelevant, hence the categorization. So here goes. Scars in the Moonlight. As always, reviews and feedback are appreciated. Thank you.**

 **I'm actually really excited about this.**

* * *

 **Chapter 1: Revelations of Abnormality**

Kitty Potter decided she liked the streets. Sure they were cold and unforgiving, and she more often than not lacked for food, but there was a certain amount of freedom here.

She'd gotten good at finding places to hole up, at avoiding those who might hurt her, at blending in with the crowd. She was a better than decent pickpocket, and the public library was always warm.

Cleanliness wasn't as easy as it might have been, but she'd learned to clean herself from a sink, and had found clothes in a charity bin that were better than what the Dursley's had _ever_ provided her with. They were girls clothes, for one, rather than Dudley's hand-me-downs. And while they didn't fit, she wasn't swimming in them.

Running away had been the best decision she had ever made. She was now able to live _her_ abnormal life, leaving the Dursley's to _theirs_. Without her there, they might even become something approaching the normal they craved.

She doubted it, but it was possible.

She ducked a corner when she saw one of the bobbies walking in her direction. She should be in school, she knew. Truancy was a crime, of sorts. Not one she'd be overly punished for, but still a crime. And he might take her back to her relatives. Which considering their likely reaction, was more punishment than the crime really warranted.

Two months without her there? They were probably still celebrating.

She danced through an alley, up a fire escape, down the other side, and pulled out an apple she'd pocketed from the local grocers.

Pickpocketing was also a crime they'd return her to the Dursley's for. But food was important, and while she knew the pangs of hunger well that didn't mean she liked them. Nuh-uh.

She turned a corner and ran into a man in a long black dress. Robe? Whatever. She didn't think such fashion was normal, but it was what it was. She took a hasty step to the side. "Excuse me." She murmured, and pulled away quickly, not looking at him and making sure she looked like she had a destination to reach.

Most people let you pass if you looked like you knew where you were going. She was only eight, but it still worked in principle. Most of the time.

A hand reached out and grabbed her shoulder. "Kitty Potter." She twisted away reflexively, breaking into a rapid sprint, around the corner. The man behind her cussed and gave chase. Shit, shit, shit. He'd recognized her. How'd he recognize her? _She didn't want to go back._

London was her home now. She knew the streets like the back of her hand. Every alley, every fire escape. Which streets were one way and how to lose somebody in a crowd.

The only question was how the man kept _finding_ her every time she lost him, getting in front of her, heading her off. She ducked through an alley and across the street. A car honked, swerving to avoid her and the man driving cussed her out. But she'd reached her destination- the open park. With plenty of witnesses.

Young kids playing, their mothers and sitters watching them- she ran up to a group of three women who were gossiping.

Kitty knew she was skinny, that it had been a few days since she washed, and not well at that. There was a bruise on her face from where she'd tripped on a fire escape, and she looked pathetic and frightened. She could use that.

"Help! Help." She was gasping out of breath, but she had their attention.

"What's-"

"There's this guy- chasing me. Tried to grab me-" She turned, catching sight of him on the edge of the park and she yelped, trying to get behind them further, where he couldn't see.

"Call the police, Mary-"

"Well _I_ never-"

Kitty did not get to find out what the woman had never, for the woman's face blanked, along with her two friends, and they walked away toward their charges, even starting up their gossip again as if Kitty'd never been.

She gaped, even as she turned with a certain amount of trepidation toward the cloaked man, stalking towards her, muttering under his breath. _"Ungrateful brat. Potters, all the same."_

She backed away. The park strategy now working against her. He was taller, faster, could easily overtake her without the obstacles- not that those had helped her much either. Still, she made a dash for it, lungs burning, legs aching. She barely got five feet before she tripped over thin air. _How did one trip over thin air?_ She scrambled back, like a crab, as he pointed a stick at her, snarl on his face. " _Stupefy_."

A red light. Then blackness.

* * *

" _Ennervate_."

Kitty woke all at once, body tensing, even as she forced herself to relax back into seeming unconsciousness. Waking up was good. Much better than the alternative. But she'd long learned from letting the world know she was awake until she was sure of who was around her. She learned more that way.

"Shit." She recognized the voice. It was the cloaked man! The one that chased her across London! " _Ennervate_."

A wave of energy rolled through her again. Making everything far too awake and aware for comfort- too energized. It was impossible to hold still, but she managed it.

The shallow breaths she was taking- the sleeping breaths tasted of a place she never wanted to be again: the Dursley's. The air was almost too clean, with bleach and detergent, and the awful floral scent her Aunt sprayed the air with as if it could cover up the atrocities she and her husband committed against her own flesh and blood.

Of course, her aunt screeching in the background about the freaks coming into her house— _"I'll call the police!"—_ was a prime indicator of where she was as well. Wait. Freaks. Plural. She wasn't referring to Kitty. Or _only_ Kitty.

Freak had always been a special term, denoting _what_ she was. Something that came up about the impossible things that happened around her, like turning her teacher's wig blue, or the time she teleported on top of the school to escape Dudley and his gang. If these people were Freaks too, it might explain how the cloaked man had kept finding her, and what that red light was. It might-

"Dammit Digg!" It was a new voice. Also male. "What did you _do_?"

"I dunno! She won't wake!"

The other man shuffled over, and snorted. "She's faking."

She dodged the foot aimed at her side with the years of practice from living at the Dursley's, and cursed the reflex even as she looked at the two men who'd forced her back to her prison.

Maybe if she was lucky the Dursley's would be happy to let her leave again?

Aunt Petunia was still screeching at them. "Eh, shut the woman up, Digg."

Digg turned to Aunt Petunia and waved the stick in his hand. " _Silencio_ ," and then " _Petrificus Totalus,_ " when she tried to hit him with his purse because she stopped making sound. She snapped stiff, like a board, and fell over.

It was then that she noticed Uncle Vernon in a similar state. She mentally cussed herself, missing something like that. She swallowed hard, looking at the door, then back at the man who had tried to kick her to break her ruse.

She bolted, or tried to. A hand pulled her back and she hit the wall harder than necessary. Her head spun.

" _Obliviate_ ," something washed over her- she didn't know what, "The bobbies came and brought you home, you won't run away again."

She blinked at him, somewhat dazed from the wall and confused. Was she supposed to _believe_ that?

Apparently she was supposed to do nothing, because the man turned to her Aunt and Uncle and repeated the word and gesture, and lifted whatever effect they were under.

And then he and Digg disappeared with a loud crack.

What?

The hell.

No seriously. What just happened?

Her aunt and uncle were sitting up.

"You are in so much trouble, girl." Mount Vernon was redder than she'd ever seen him. "Bringing the bobbies to our door. You ungrateful brat, we give you food, a roof over your head-"

"Oh, what will the neighbors think?"

"But the police didn't bring me back. Those two men with sticks did."

The two went silent, looking at her in horror, Vernon actually lost some color before regaining it rapidly.

Surprisingly, it was her aunt who answered first, and her fury was a cold hiss. " _How dare you?_ How dare you speak of such _unnaturalness_ in this household? We are good, upstanding, _normal_ people, and you-"

"Your delusions of normalcy include keeping your niece locked in the cupboard under the stairs!" Kitty yelled at them. Her Aunt and Uncle reared back in shock. She took a deep breath, spurred on by their reaction. "I know most people have skeletons in their closet, but that takes the _cake_. That's the kind of thing you'd hear on the telly, where people are up in arms and decrying just how horrible and _freakish_ someone would have to be. You are _anything_ but nor-"

Her uncle hit her, hard. She didn't even see it coming. She should have- she had plenty of practice, but her head was still ringing from hitting the wall earlier, and everything was wrong, wrong, _wrong_. She put a hand to her face in shock. It was not the first time he'd hit her, not by far.

But he usually avoided her face, especially with closed fists. Appearances were important after all, and such evidence was not to be tolerated.

A kick to her leg and she was down. And then he kept hitting her, taking off his belt and whipping her with that. Its edge cut into her skin. She tried to run, but he caught her and she felt something snap in her arm.

Aunt Petunia had sniffed and left a little bit in, and Kitty curled up into herself, sobbing, praying for it to _end_.

And then she was picked up and thrown bodily into the cupboard under the stairs, _her_ cupboard, her leg folding under her in a way it definitely wasn't supposed to. The door slammed shut and locked.

She could barely see straight, blood was in her eyes. A pain shot through her side with each rise and fall of her chest. The world swam in front of her face.

And the world went black for the second time that day.

* * *

She drifted in and out of consciousness. Her arm was broken, she knew, as was her leg. She couldn't breath right, and she could feel the welts on her back burning as they refused to heal.

The Dursley's didn't open the cupboard. They didn't demand she cook breakfast. She counted time by what she heard of their movements. It had already been a full two nights.

They'd pull her out soon. They always did.

Her aunt would glare at her, make sure she could still work as their little slave, and set her to do so.

Even if it had never been this bad before.

They'd pull her out.

She took another deep breath, as the light turned off outside her cupboard, and snores echoed from the upstairs.

They weren't going to pull her out of here. They weren't going to keep her in working condition. They were literally the only ones who knew she was here. And if she died and they got rid of her body, they could say she ran away two months ago, and people would _believe_ them because she hadn't been around.

Kitty took another breath, slow, controlled. Her chest protested the motion with sharp pain. The back of her throat was all too dry. She was going to die a statistic. Of family abuse. And the Dursley's would get away with it.

She was never going to travel the world. She was never going to leave this place and never come back. She was never going to be free.

Because she would be dead.

She let the breath out. "Nobody is coming for me." Those daydreams about having other family out there that would come for her, that would be upset on her behalf because they knew the Dursleys were wrong, were just daydreams. Nobody knew she was here. Nobody cared. Nobody would come and save her.

The world was a cold and cruel place.

The only one who could save her was herself.

And her face hardened, and she took a deep breath, and spoke again, softly. "I am going to die in here. Alone. Nobody is going to save me. Nobody is coming for me."

She turned to look at the cupboard door, every movement causing a spike of pain through her chest and neck and arm. She glared at it.

She was a freak. Her aunt had always said so. But she'd called those two men freaks too, and they had _power_. They could make things happen. Sort of like she had, all those times. With her teacher's wig and the cafeteria roof. With the way her hair grew back overnight when her aunt had sheared it off. Or how she had repaired the plate when she'd broken it before her aunt had discovered her mistake.

If they could control it, _so could she_ , and _she wanted out_.

The lock clicked open, loud in the silence, and she froze. But the snores from upstairs continued, and there were no footsteps. She carefully lifted herself, pushing herself through the pain, even as the bones in her leg ground together.

She was going to get out of here, she was going to heal. She was going to _live_.

No matter what.

She could feel it now, coursing through her, whatever power she had. And she let it help her, let it help her pick her up, and pull her to her feet. Let it help her to the door, and out into the night, and down the street.

She had no one to go to, no one would help her.

But like _hell_ was she going to die in a cupboard under the stairs.

The pain was unbearable, a constant burn, but she made her way toward the park. Toward grass and freedom. She'd hide, and get further tomorrow. She sat down by the bushes, trying to push her leg back to rights. She knew how it should be, and demanded it of herself.

She could _do_ this.

A scream tore out her throat as her leg straightened. And her arm. Burning intensified.

Tomorrow. She would get farther tomorrow. And if those men with sticks, Digg and his friend found her again?

They wouldn't know what hit them.

She looked up at the stars, taking deep breaths. She needed to hide, wait for tomorrow.

But she couldn't move.

Couldn't make it.

The stars twinkled down from the night sky above her, and she let out a bitter smile.

At the very least, she wouldn't die in her cupboard.


	2. By any other name

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

 **Chapter 2: By any other name**

* * *

There was a beeping sound on her left. Constant. Kitty was in an actual bed, and the air actually smelled more sterile than the Dursley's- probably tasted that way too, but her mouth felt gross and dry.

She was alone- nobody else was breathing in the room- so she opened her eyes, crusty with sleep. A hospital. She'd seen pictures, in the school books. It was night. She was bandaged. Her arm was in a cast and her leg and chest wrapped. How long had she been out? What day was it?

What day had it even been?

She took a deep breath. Her breathing was easier, at least. That was something.

There was a call button on the bedside table.

She wondered if she could get out of there. She could pull the needles from her arm, get out of the bindings. Find her clothes. Get out of the hospital unseen.

She had no idea where she was. How to get out. She was still hurt. Not as bad, but still hurt. Her leg _ached_ , a constant consuming pain. She was pretty sure it wasn't supposed to do that.

Could she outrun the nurses and doctors? Maybe. It would be tricky in her current state. And that was if she knew the way out.

Maybe it was like the school, and she could find maps with fire escape routes? Hospitals were public buildings, right?

She took a deep breath and moved to her arm, pulling out the needles attached to the bag, then the wires and suction cups that came away- not easy. But she really wanted them to come off despite whatever glue they used. The beeping turned into a continuous sound and she winced, before crawling out the bed, testing her weight on her leg carefully. She pulled the weight off immediately as pain spiked through it. Nope. Nowhere near healed, even if it wasn't broken anymore.

She glanced at the door. Maybe if she used the wall as a crutch?

There was someone coming her way, bustling loudly.

She looked around the room, noting the bathroom and the other, empty bed. There were curtains around it, hanging from the ceiling and she bolted for them, using them to hide from the door.

The person, people walked in. The first- female, nurse? Looked around, while one of the men with her jogged off, speaking into a walkie-talkie- she didn't know what he was saying.

"Hello?" The nurse was searching the room.

Kitty knew she couldn't move. And that she didn't have a very good hiding spot. But maybe she would be overlooked if she stayed quiet?

It was not to be. The nurse walked around the curtains and gestured something to the guard outside. And then she was crouching across the way from her, coming down to her level.

"Hello. I'm Nurse Abagail. Who are you?"

Kitty stared at her, but remained silent. The nurse was an unknown, and she couldn't help her. No one could.

But more importantly, if they didn't know who she was, they couldn't make her go back.

"Are you hurt?"

Kitty frowned, and shook her head negative.

The nurse Abagail smiled. "That's good, can you come back to bed? It must be uncomfortable in that corner."

It _was_ uncomfortable in the corner. But she'd been all but tied to the bed. She didn't want to go back.

But staying in the corner didn't make much sense, either.

She stood, ignoring the pain in her leg, keeping her back to the wall as she made her way around the Nurse Abagail, who made no move toward her, and took a glance out the open door. There was a security guard there. Or maybe a janitor- she couldn't tell.

She settled in the previously empty bed, and curled her uninjured leg up in front of her, watching the nurse like one might a rabid dog.

"Can you speak? Your throat doesn't hurt, does it?"

She blinked at the woman. Not speaking was a perfect excuse not to give her name. She wasn't giving it up.

The woman frowned. "Do you want something to drink? I can get you some water."

Kitty frowned, but nodded, hesitantly.

Her throat burned.

The nurse beamed at her and went off to get her some water.

Kitty stared at her back like she was the strangest thing she had ever seen. In truth, she wasn't far off. What kind of person was so happy to go get her water? Shouldn't she be more upset that she wasn't talking to her? She pulled the blanket up around her with a frown. She didn't like it here.

It didn't make any sense.

They trapped her- there was a man outside the room so she couldn't run, but they were being suspiciously nice to her.

But it wasn't the Dursley's.

It wasn't the Dursley's.

* * *

They gave her food. Readily. Good food too. Not scraps. Jello. And pudding. And soups. And occasionally microwave-like meals like Dudley liked to eat as snacks, though Dudley's smelled better.

Nurse Abagail was around often, and there was another woman, old and greying who came in and asked her questions that she didn't answer. Like who she was. And about who had hurt her.

She liked Abagail better. She played games with her. And read her books.

They gave her paper and crayons and had her draw things. Which she did.

"That's a pretty picture. What is it?"

She blinked at the woman. What made her think she'd say anything if she hadn't before?

"You should sign it."

She gave the woman a sideways look.

"All great artists sign things. And I can tell you're going to be a great artist someday."

She gave the woman a deadpan glare. Did she think Kitty was stupid? The woman was pouting at her, as if it would change her decision. Maybe _Abagail_ was that stupid?

She frowned, and put her crayon to the paper. Sign it, would she? In purple letters, at the bottom right of the page. N. O. No wasn't a name though. Maybe Noel? Like the carolers? Or the songs their school class had been taught? No. That was peaceful and happy. Maybe... Nome? It sounded like a name. No me? Not me? Sure.

Nurse Abagail was giving her an exasperated look, half disappointed, almost amused.

M And E settled in the corner of the page, and she gave the nurse a teasing grin. As if she'd been pranking her by signing it no.

The nurse giggled, but there was a triumphant glint in her eye. "Nome. It's a good name."

Kitty froze, as if in absolute horror. Terror coursing through her. If they knew her name, they could send her back. It wasn't her real name. It wasn't that hard to act, either. Fury and fear were interchangeable, occasionally, especially when she knew actions in fury could get her into much more trouble than whatever she'd been in. And she could calm it. Really, she could.

And Abagail had tried to trick her into giving away her freedom.

She threw the crayon away and tore up the picture, even as she crawled backwards on the bed so far as the suction cups glued to her chest could take her. Tears gathered in her eyes.

"Nome. Oh god. What's wrong? I didn't mean to-"

She flinched at the name. It may be a lie, but now it was her _name_. If she never wanted to go back, she had to _sell_ it. "You'll make me go back." Her voice was thin, rough from disuse. Hysterical. She had to be hysterical. "If you know my name, you know who I am, and you can _make me go back_."

"Oh. No. You're not going back. Never." Abagail sounded half surprised, half horrified, panic well hidden under the authority of the statement.

Kitty. Nome, Curled into herself. Crying. It was a lie. She _knew_ it was.

"I promise you. You're never going back there. Nobody is going to make you go back to people who hurt you."

Kitty choked on a sob. She couldn't promise that. The cloaked men- the other Freaks had tracked her down in London, and they could probably track her down here. Or anywhere else she went.

Kitty sniffled, glaring at her over her knee. She hated this bed. She couldn't get her back to the wall.

Abagail didn't leave. She had picked up the pieces of the drawing, and laid them to the side. And stayed where she was, murmuring false promises, and apologizing for scaring her that way.

Kitty didn't respond, simply looking at her over her knee.

"You wouldn't be sent back if your family hurt you, Nome. We have evidence. If they tried to take you back, they'd go to jail."

She made sure to flinch at the name. Abagail didn't seem to notice. Or ignored it, more likely.

"I know you're a smart kid, Nome. You're good at puzzles. And you've been reading chapter books easily."

They never brought her anything really interesting.

"Nobody here is going to hurt you. Or let you get hurt. Not if we can help you. I promise."

Kitty blinked at her over her knee, and didn't respond.

Because she _couldn't_ promise that.

* * *

She woke up in a new place. Beige, vaguely golden walls. Large windows. Thinner air. Sick beds lined up against either wall.

"Are you certain she's completely healed?"

She didn't turn towards the voice. (Male. Drawling, very stiff upper lip. She couldn't name the accent-)

"Yes, those Muggles. _Barbaric_." (Female. Almost Motherly. Less aristocratic-)

"Good." The man reached out and grabbed her shoulder, wrenching her around to see him: black eyes glaring out over a crooked nose, limp black hair, a stick pointed at her face, wearing a robe. " _Obliviate_. Your injuries were less than they seemed. The doctors sent you back."

She blinked at him. Head still heavy from whatever had put her under. No reaction. She wasn't supposed to react to this. The Dursleys's hadn't, she remembered.

A flash of red darted from the end of the man's wand and blackness claimed her.

* * *

She woke up again at the Dursley's. Her casts gone, arm and leg and scars healed, no evidence as to how she'd gotten there. She'd known this was coming. Prayed that it wouldn't.

It was not to be.

She cussed, punching the wall by her head, and flinching back, shaking her hand out with a few choice more swears.

Aunt Petunia rapped on the door. "Up! Get up! Now!" Kitty grimaced, stretching and trying to find herself in her cupboard.

The dust was still there, and the blood from the previous beating had set in to the old sheets she'd managed to put together for her cot. Her aunt rapped on the door again. "Up!" she screeched. Kitty heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove.

She didn't have a change of clothes- she'd taken those when she left the first time, and she was wearing... something rather nicer than she'd had previous. It looked like pajamas and they _fit_ \- definitely not something the Dursley's would allow her, which only left _them_.

Shit, shit, shit. Her Aunt wouldn't like that, and she couldn't hide it unless- Wait. There was the really old rags-for-clothes that she'd shoved under the stairs a while back. A quick scamper had the pajamas- a powder blue, she noted stashed away and the rags, still larger than her and covered in dust on.

She'd have to seriously clean her cupboard during her chores today, but not with anything harsh, as she'd probably be stuck in it. Hopefully the blood didn't set in too far... Her aunt was back outside the door. "Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," said Kitty.

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn."

Kitty clenched her fist, biting down any obvious response. It would get her nothing, but after almost a month on the street, it was rather more difficult to simply take the abuse as she had to. "Yes, Aunt Petunia."

She walked away, and Kitty made her way out of her unlocked cupboard, stretching as she did so, testing her limbs.

Okay. So the Cloaked Men, the other Freaks. They could heal broken bones in days. And scars. They could erase memories and knock people out in a flash of red. They could paralyze people. Silence noise. Teleport. Track her down. Make others ignore something they really shouldn't.

That likely just scratched the surface of their abilities, too.

And whoever they were, they were... adamant she remain at Number 4, Privet Drive, in the... care of her Aunt and Uncle. Against the will of every individual involved.

And she'd thought she'd never meet anybody or group of bodies that she hated more than the Dursleys.

A quick trip to the kitchen, and she started breakfast. Rashers. Eggs. Hashbrowns. Sausage. Full English, of course. Far be it that Uncle Vernon and Dudley starve themselves. Or lose any of their weight whatsoever.

Aunt Petunia bustled over after a moment. "What are you _wearing_? It's filthy."

A swat to her hand and Kitty pulled away from the stove. "It's what I have. All my clothes are missing, after the..." She didn't finish the statement.

Aunt Petunia looked like she'd smelled something horrid. Or like she'd eaten a lemon.

"Go clean up. I won't have you tracking dirt through my house, _girl_." She turned to mind the stove. "Handling our good food like that-"

Kitty scampered before her aunt could decide she needed to be punished for the transgression, heading to the laundry room and finding some of Dudley's newer castoffs folded off to the side, she took those- it was clear they weren't going to be worn by him anymore. They were a size smaller than his newest clothes in the hamper and had a few holes and stains in them beside. A quick- very quick shower and change, and she was back in the kitchen, taking her job back from her Aunt, who sniffed about ungrateful brats and then went back to setting out a chore list among other things.

Crisis averted.

* * *

School was... interesting upon her return. Rumor had it, she'd been in the loony bin for a few months there, after a psychotic break. She was... patently unimpressed, until she found she could snap her teeth at people and have them recoil. It got her in trouble with the teachers, sure, but quite frankly, there was very little they could do to her.

Detentions simply kept her away from the Dursley's, who'd been getting more violent since her... survival and miraculous recovery.

Outside of that, she spent time in the library. Learning ahead, planning ahead.

Because she was up against people far more powerful than her. With abilities she couldn't quite comprehend. They wanted to control her, to cage her, to stop her from being what she dreamed she someday could be.

And she wasn't going to let them.


	3. Literacy

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

 **AN: Okay. So this is going to be the last one for today. The three-chapters-at once was just a way to get started and won't be happening again. I do _not_ write fast enough for that. That said, this was a fun chapter to write and I hope you enjoy it. Reviews are, as always, appreciated. Thank you.**

 **Chapter 3: Literacy**

* * *

Kitty had known the Surrey Public Library for a good year before she'd initially run away from the Dursley's. It was about five blocks out, and on the days the Dursley's didn't want to see hide nor hair of her, it was a safe haven from everything from the weather to Dudley and his gang.

More importantly, it had books. Stacks upon stacks. Fiction, to non-fiction, to textbooks, to periodicals.

Information, knowledge in the closest it came to its purest form.

And knowledge was power- power she could eventually use to get away from the Dursley's, to travel and see all the places she was reading about, to be someone worth being. From Egypt, to Greece, to China. African plains to Brazilian Jungles. Ancient Cultures that, while no longer around, she could explore and unearth.

When she left the Dursley's, she would be getting as far away from the uniformity of Privet Drive as was within her power. But in the meantime, the library was her means to that end, and the closest she would get to that eventuality.

Which was why, she supposed, that having the Dursley's invade the library in any capacity felt like such a violation.

But it was some kind of social event- _'a charity'_ \- that Uncle Vernon would look good for going to, and that Aunt Petunia could gossip about to her not-really-friends, and so the Dursley's were going to the library and taking their precious Duddikins with them, despite the fact that they wouldn't know charity if it bit them in the arse.

Now this normally wouldn't pose a problem, except for the fact that Kitty's usual babysitter, the crazy old cat lady that lived two streets over, was visiting relatives and thus unable to look after her. Which meant Kitty was coming to said charity, and wearing a secondhand dress on top of that.

She didn't much like the dress, even if it was one of the first things the Dursley's had ever truly bought for her outside of underwear. It was ugly, and wearing a skirt felt strange and foreign in ways she couldn't quite explain. Worse, it would probably make running and climbing more difficult if Dudley and his gang decided to start a round of 'Kitty Catching', and... It was strange how much the dress even mattered to her, but in combination with the impending invasion of the library it was messing with her something fierce.

She picked at the fabric laying across her legs. She looked like a bunch of flowers had thrown up all over her.

"Now be quiet. And polite. And for _Christ's_ sake, don't do anything _freakish_."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

The woman glared down at her, clearly trying to find the back talk in her words.

It was amazing what Aunt Petunia could find fault in nowadays. Ever since... ever since the other Freaks had shown up, her Aunt seemed to realize something had worked against her worldview, even if she couldn't remember it, and the blame fell solely on Kitty's shoulders.

And while the woman probably wasn't wrong- it was definitely Kitty the other freaks were invested in, Kitty didn't want them there either and the extra scrutiny she was under and the punishments she'd had to bear because of it just weren't fair.

The charity was boring. Also not quite as exclusive as she'd been lead to believe. For one, the library was still open, and they were just using one of the conference rooms. For another, outside a small raffle and a small ticket price (waived for children), it didn't seem too focused on the charity cause (Child Literacy of all things). It was actually more of just people talking and eating, and trying to one-up each other. There were people who weren't even dressed up.

Kitty didn't quite know what a charity was supposed to look like, but this certainly wasn't what she'd expected.

But the important part- the _important_ part of the evening, came when somebody (a rather shrewd looking woman, wearing a nice dress), asked, "Well, I'm certain your children at _least_ have library cards. We _are_ promoting child literacy here."

Which, no. Neither Dudley, nor Kitty (not that she'd ever, in any shape or form consent to being considered Aunt Petunia's child) had a library card.

Aunt Petunia's smile froze for the briefest moment, in that way that told Kitty the woman (and now she wanted to know the lady's name) had scored a serious point.

At which point, Dudley did the helpful thing and piped in with "Aunt Marge says reading is for ninnys."

The answer made Aunt Petunia flush in embarrassment and actually admonish Dudley with a "Your Aunt isn't always right," which was... about as close as she'd ever come to scolding the boy, really.

But Kitty wasn't paying attention, because the lady's eyes were on her, cool, assessing. A clear question, as if expecting her to speak up as well.

Kitty frowned, trying to hide unsuccessfully in her seat, before deciding it was probably more freakish (albeit not _Freakish_ ) if she didn't answer the unspoken question. "Aunt Petunia has been meaning to bring us in for our cards, but it hasn't been a... a priority because we do have books at home." Kitty said quietly, letting herself seem overly shy.

It was about as close to a blatant lie as it got without catapulting itself off a cliff. As it was, there were a few stacks of discarded books in Dudley's second bedroom. Most of them even had all their pages.

The woman's gaze turned almost amused, and Kitty could swear there was some kind of approval in there, though she couldn't say why the woman would approve of what Kitty just said. "Well, you _are_ here now."

Kitty forced her face to remain blank, turning to observe even as Aunt Petunia's smile fixed into something Kitty'd seen when her Aunt was operating under parameters she really would rather not. "I suppose we are, aren't we? Well, no time like the present. If you'll excuse us."

Aunt Petunia's nails bit into her shoulder as she led the two of them away. Kitty knew she would pay for this later.

Should've kept her mouth shut.

* * *

The card went in the trash the moment they were home. Dudley's went to him to be promptly lost in the expansive mess that was his second bedroom, but hers went in the trash, on top of the slimy leftover pasta sauce from lunch and the vegetables Dudley refused to eat.

She returned the dress, ugly as it was to Aunt Petunia, and was promptly locked in the cupboard under the stairs without dinner.

A light punishment, all told, almost reminiscent of _Before_. Except unlike _Before_ , Kitty now had a trick. A trick that she'd been working on since the first time she realized what being a Freak meant.

And so, after it had gotten dark, and the Dursley's snores echoed from the upstairs, Kitty took a deep breath, and concentrated on the lock.

It was a simple slide bolt- didn't even need a key- but it locked from the outside. She wanted it open. _Needed_ it open.

The lock stayed stubbornly closed.

This, unfortunately, was not an uncommon occurrence in her attempts to use her Freakishness to her advantage. Healing was at this point all but involuntary, even though it was incredibly painful and far too slow, but opening the lock, even though it was one of the first Freakish things she'd ever really managed after finding out what her ability even was, still only worked about 30% of the time.

She had to _want_ it, she found. Want it badly enough that it was more important than _breathing_. To need it, damn the consequences.

It had taken two weeks to successfully repeat the trick, all because she'd been too afraid the Dursley's would find out and actually kill her. Two weeks before the absolute hopelessness (that she might never be able to control her Freakishness in an actually helpful way, that she might never be able to be free of those that held her prisoner) had pushed her to the desperation she feared might be necessary to open the damn lock.

And Kitty needed that library card. She knew exactly where it was- and all she needed to do was get out of the cupboard to get it. It wouldn't let her check out books- if the Dursley's found out that would be a disaster. But it would let her use the computers there, and that would help her research a lot. Maybe. Probably.

She had a vague plan. Mentions of child protection on the telly and vague discussions about child abuse at school. But she needed details before she was willing to commit to that level of manipulation. To letting others know just how much the Dursleys hurt her.

Part of her didn't want their pity. A larger part of her was afraid they just wouldn't care, and then she'd have played her hand, and the Dursleys would have free reign to do as they wished and...

Inhale. Exhale.

She needed that library card. The Dursley's couldn't take it from her. She needed out of the cupboard. Away from the Dursley's. She needed her freedom, and she would risk everything bar _absolute survival_ to get it, and the first step needed was _OUT_.

The lock clicked open.

She exhaled, wiping away the few tears she wouldn't admit had escaped, and listened. The Dursley's kept on snoring. Uncle Vernon's lawn mower. Aunt Petunia's almost whine that could barely be heard. Dudley's pig-like snorts.

She knew they weren't actually that loud- that it was only the absolute quiet of the house and familiarity that allowed her to pick them out. Though she was fairly certain her hearing was better than it had once been (she could pick out the fridge from the air conditioning and the general hum of electricity all from her cupboard) and thought maybe that was a bit of Freakishness too? Maybe Freaks were different from one another in... skill set? Skill set.

It didn't matter. She slowly- quietly- opened her cupboard door and made her way to to the kitchen, avoiding floorboards five and nine as she did so.

Aunt Petunia had taken out the trash. She stared at the trashcan dumbly, at the empty trash bag, feeling a lump in her chest at the failure of an expedition because if the trash wasn't in the kitchen garbage bag, then it was in the garage, waiting to be taken to the curb in two days time, and the door to the garage was _loud_ when it opened and right below her Aunt and Uncle's room.

She forced herself calm. She _needed_ that card. She'd gone too far to go back now.

She made her way to the garage door, and slowly, very slowly pushed it open, listening for the snores upstairs to-

The door opened silently. No squelch from the seal. No creak. No clunk when it got past the door jam. Just...

 _What?_

How?

Did _she_ do that?

That was _brilliant._

Right. Back to her task. She slipped into the garage, closed the door (silent!), and turned on the light. There wasn't a window out so it was probably safe. It took some manuvering to get the trash bag out (it was on top), then open it, find the card without getting any grime on herself, and replace the bag as it was.

Then it was just a question of getting back to her cupboard and locking it behind her.

Which was easier than it should have been because making sure her excursion and abilities remained secret was quite possibly the difference between life and death.

* * *

Kitty closed the book with a sigh. It was interesting, certainly. But the Art of War, for all it professed interesting concepts, was not going to help her out of her situation. Neither was The Prince. And for all she was smart, for all she could use the dictionary like a pro, getting through them was an exercise in futility.

Hell, street magic was more useful in terms of manipulating people. Sherlock Holmes had been more useful in terms of applying manipulations, though she doubted it was completely true to life. Both were far easier to understand, too.

She closed the book, placing it on the nearest library cart and padding over to the computer room of the library, logging on and opening the website for England's Child Protection Agency- the NSPCC.

She had more options. Many more options. A small article on how teachers and nurses were being trained to notice such situations (not very effective at it, were they?), and a brief, if not very technical explanation of the process used to move a kid from their home.

The only problem she could see with it was the attempts they made to protect the child's privacy. Probably a good thing, all told, but in _her_ case she had other Freaks- Freaks capable of _wiping people's memories_ \- that had proven themselves willing to expend quite a bit of effort to keep Kitty with her relatives.

The more people aware of the situation, the more difficult it would be to cover it up.

...This would not be easy.

* * *

It had taken weeks to stop her... her Freakishness from reflexively healing her injuries. It was... counter-intuitive. Kitty _needed_ her health. She _hated_ being hurt. And while healing was painful, being crippled, or scarred, or dead was not an option.

But... Kitty needed the evidence. And she _did_ scar, more than she cared to admit, even with the healing. As it was, she could only really prevent injuries from healing with a certain amount of focus. Granted, healing herself hurt, usually more than the injury itself, so slipping up drew the required focus to halt it again.

The exercise brought into sharp relief just how bad the Dursley's had been getting. Like _Before_ , they kept Kitty functional, capable of doing her chores. No visible injuries. Nothing that would show up the next day. And if they did, then they would back off for a week or so, out of shame or perhaps fear of discovery. Except _now_ when Aunt Petunia stepped on her hand while she was washing the floor, the injury was gone by the time she was sent back to her cupboard for the night. Now, when Uncle Vernon slapped her upside the head for mouthing off, any inkling of a bruise was gone by the next morning. When Dudley and his gang caught up to her during one of their 'Kitty Catching' games, and kicked her while she was on the ground, the next day any visible bruises had faded, leaving only painful _spots_ where Kitty's ability was working overtime to return bruised flesh back to normal.

It was getting worse. Either because they realized it was freakish or because they didn't realize just how much damage they were actually doing.

It didn't take much to accumulate the bruises she'd need. The... the evidence. It also didn't take much to start off another round of 'Kitty Catching' during recess. Just showing her face to Dudley's gang, really.

It also didn't take much to stumble- _over that stone, there_ \- in front of one of the teachers (A Mrs. Healy) and get a long bloody scrape on Kitty's side where her shirt rode up as she slid and tumbled across the ground. She couldn't- she fought back tears. That had been worse than she'd anticipated. She couldn't hide.

Mrs. Healy brought her to the nurse.

The scrape stung, and she was bleeding through her shirt and pants. Her palms were bloody where she'd tried to catch herself.

Inhale, exhale. Don't cry.

It... it wasn't too bad.

The door to the nurses office opened. "Hello. What can- oh dear."

Kitty was quickly brought into the back room, and asked to take off her clothes as the nurse brought out a spare gym uniform. They'd need to take her shirt, she knew, the injury was underneath, and to ignore it wasn't an option. Not to mention the shirt was a ruined and bloody mess.

"I'm fine really." The answer rolled off her tongue almost without her thinking about it. Everything in her froze up.

This... this was a bad plan. (She'd gone too far to turn back now.) An awful plan. (Why did she think this was a good idea?)

The looks she got were on the far side of incredulous.

"I'll be fine," she amended. Heart sinking. They weren't going to let her turn back.

She flinched when they touched her. It burned to realize it wasn't entirely of her own volition. That the reflex was entirely out of her control. A shaky breath told her she was close to crying.

They peeled back the shirt from the scrape, and off. Air stung, cool, the blood slick down her side.

The bruises on her back and sides. The scars, healed over from Uncle Vernon's belt, none of which were recent. The bruise in the shape of Uncle Vernon's palm visible where he'd grabbed her arm yesterday to yank her around.

It was damning. She _knew_ it was damning. She saw the nurse's mouth set in a grim line even as Mrs. Healy gasped, unshed tears in her eyes. Kitty flinched at the sound.

And then the nurse got to work picking the gravel out of the scrape, and the teacher stalked off with a determined gait.

The next few hours passed in a bit of a blur. She remembered talking to the counselors, to the police, to a nice lady from social services.

She remembered having to go back to the Dursley's to showing them the cupboard under the stairs, with bloodstains dried over from a week ago, even as the Dursley's tried to claim she slept in Dudley's second bedroom, and that the broken toys were hers. (She supposed it was a good thing Dudley was such a bad liar, and really, really stupid to boot.)

She remembered all of the neighbors, gossips that they were, rubbernecking at the spectacle that couldn't really be avoided.

And she remembered when the Freaks showed up.


	4. The Order of the Freaks

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter, as always, belongs to J.K. Rowling.**

Chapter 4: The Order of the Freaks

* * *

Kitty was sitting in an office in the police station, with a social worker, the school nurse, and two investigators when they showed up. Several loud cracks, followed by the lights flickering. The adults started and startled before their faces abruptly blanked, and Kitty moved to bolt from her chair to hide from what was almost certainly an attack. A hand grabbed around her arm, and the world warped, squeezing, and suffocating as it moved- throwing her back and forth, her stomach in her throat- she screamed.

Then the world warped back, full and still somehow spinning despite remaining stationary. Her stomach rebelled, and she emptied the pizza she'd been fed at the station onto the dress of the person who'd grabbed her. She would be lying if she said there wasn't any vindication in the act.

The woman swore, and Kitty scrambled back. Or tried to. The woman had a solid grip on her arm.

"You little _brat_."

"Vance, drop it. That was probably her first time apparating." The voice was gruff and grizzled, as was the man it was attached to. One of his eyes was clearly fake- a bright blue that was turning in its socket irrespective of the movement of the other.

The woman, Vance, scoffed, and pulled out a long thin stick- like the ones the other freaks had had. Waving it once. Kitty flinched away, but the vomit merely vanished from the dress- no a robe, it seemed- and another twitch cleared the scent.

Kitty swallowed heavily. "What's going on? Who are you?"

"Not exactly polite, are you brat?"

She snarled. "Says the lady who bloody well _kidnapped_ me from a police station."

"Why I oughtta-"

"You oughtta _what?_ " She snapped back. It was a gamble, but the grizzled man had stopped the woman from doing anything earlier.

Grizzly laughed lowly. "I like you, kid."

His words had Vance letting her go and crossing her arms with a huff. Which was good- because Kitty was running on pure adrenaline and bravado, and if that risk hadn't paid off, well, she'd been had.

But if Grizzly liked spunk, she would give him spunk. "You'll forgive me if I don't return that sentiment." She took a step back to keep Vance in her field of view, hands curling into fists, eyes darting between the two of them as she abruptly realized she recognized where she was.

Mrs. Figg's house. On Wisteria Walk, two streets over. The crazy old cat lady the Dursley's had babysit her whenever they couldn't leave her home alone. She should have recognized the smell of cabbage immediately- she blamed the vomit.

What were these Freaks doing in Mrs. Figg's house? And where was Mrs. Figg?

She took a shaky breath. "Who are you, and what's going on?"

The man looked amused. "You think that's gonna work kid?"

She grimaced. "It's not like I've got anything to lose."

"Your life, for one."

She studied the grizzly man for a moment. "You don't want me dead."

"So sure about that, are you?"

She narrowed her eyes, before taking another step back, opening her hands almost in invitation, keeping Vance in the corner of her eye, and getting ready to _move_ should it prove necessary- not that she had much of a chance if it did. "Are you saying I'm wrong? 'Cause you're never gonna get a cleaner shot."

The man threw his head back and laughed. Vance couldn't seem to decide if she was shocked or creeped out by that, and Kitty had to bite back a smirk at the woman's expression. She wasn't quite sure she'd succeeded.

And then Grizzly's hand snapped out and a stick appeared in it, a shot of light streaking in her direction in her moment of inattention. She'd never taken her attention off him, letting her right leg fall out from under her and rolling to put Mrs. Figg's armchair between her and _both_ potential attackers. The light tagged the wall behind her with a sharp snap. She reached out with her other arm, grabbing a small glass candleholder from the side table and whipped it straight at Grizzly with as much force as she could muster as she rose to a crouch.

The man stopped the improvised weapon a foot or so from his face staring at it in consideration, before a flick of his stick-weapon sent it back at her at even higher speed. It shattered the vase on the side table and she ducked, snatching her hand back where she'd been going for the knitting needles.

"NEVER invite an enemy to cast a spell at you, Potter!" The Grizzled man was barking his words at her. "You never- NEVER know when they'll take you up on it!"

"Stop- for Merlin's sake, _don't hurt her!_ " Vance was trying to interfere, to stop the man from attacking, even as the chair Kitty was hiding behind flew backward, breaking apart- if she hadn't already been moving, that would have hurt- possibly probably even broken bones.

A force grabbed her foot and wrapped her arms to her sides, pulling her closer to Grizzly as she struggled. She glared up at the man even as he pointed the stick-weapon at her, its tip glowing a sickly neon purple. There was a mad glint in his eye, even as he ignored Vance pointing her own stick-weapon at _him_.

She let out a grasping breath. "I stand corrected- _now_ you're never going to get a cleaner shot." As last words went, they weren't bad.

He grinned, dismissed the purple energy build, dismissed the force that prevented her from moving. "Not bad for an untrained brat."

She eyed him warily, climbing to her feet, brushing herself off, and picking a shard of porcelain from her arm- she was glad she had shielded her face- and fingered the knitting needle she'd managed up her sleeve.

It wasn't nearly enough. Sure she could try to stab someone with it, but that wouldn't really help with their stick-weapons being so much better. Not to mention she could only bring down one of them even if she was lucky. Though Vance _did_ seem unusually keen on her safety.

Untrained, he'd said. Implying that they were- that Freaks needed _training_. That explained a lot.

And then there was that odd turn of phrase. To cast a spell. Like a _magic_ spell, maybe? The Dursley's _did_ manage to react to any mention of magic in the same manner as they did to her freakishness, sometimes.

...Did that mean their stick-weapons were magic _wands?_

"You still haven't answered my questions."

The man grunted, a large wave of his stick-weapon- wand?- putting the room back to rights, even as he turned his back on her to make his way over to a chair- there was a slight limp in his gait, and his footfalls sounded different every other step. A fake leg too? Sherlock would have known. She wasn't Sherlock Holmes.

The fireplace to the right flared up, bright and green and simultaneously searing hot and a pleasant chill. Kitty yelped, almost tripping over her own feet to put anything between herself and the new threat.

A man stepped out of the fireplace, brushing soot off himself and replacing his cap over his balding head, eyes meeting Kitty's from where she was peeking over the coffee table, before moving over to Grizzly's. "Everything handled here?"

Kitty froze- or she would have if she wasn't already unmoving. That was Digg's friend. She recognized the voice- couldn't forget it.

"All's mellow," came Grizzly's response.

Kitty shot a glance at him. That was an odd turn of phrase. His fake eye was focused directly on her, and she grimaced.

Digg's friend snorted. "I'll believe _that_ when I see it."

"Go clean up the mess, Elphias." Grizzly growled. "We'll keep watch on the kid."

Elphias, she supposed his name was, grunted an agreement, and made his way out of Mrs. Figg's house.

Kitty was shaking. She knew she was shaking. She hated that she was shaking. She couldn't stop. She-

She closed her eyes, balling up her fists, and hunching into herself. Inhale. Exhale. _Think._

"You okay kid?" It was Vance who spoke up.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" She opened her eyes, but didn't look up.

Vance shifted slightly, turning a glance toward Grizzly in question. She must have gotten some sort of affirmative, because she relaxed slightly, turning fully back to Kitty.

It was amazing what one could read off of one's body language.

"Dumbledore sent us to deal with the muggles trying to take you away from your family." Kitty didn't respond. Is _that_ what they thought? "We're going to fix everything."

Kitty opened and closed her fists, taking another shaky breath. "Oh."

Vance reached out to ruffle her hair and Kitty suppressed a flinch.

"Can't have the girl-who-lived messed with like that, y'know?"

Kitty kind of felt sick.

The girl-who-lived. Did that mean they _knew_ her family had tried to kill her? The family they were returning her to? Maybe the ability to heal one's self was a valued freakish ability and they were trying to cultivate it.

And who the _hell_ was Dumbledore?

But the woman seemed to expect Kitty to know, for her words to comfort Kitty, so Kitty couldn't ask without revealing her own ignorance. And given that they were part of a group that was prone to trying to wipe her memories every time she learned something she shouldn't?

Mr. Tibbles, one of Mrs. Figg's many cats, padded up and bumped his head against her arm with a loud purr.

Kitty started from where she was, staring at Vance with wide eyes, absently reaching out to scratch the cat's ears.

"So why Mrs. Figg's house?" The question was almost idle.

"Well, she's one of the Order, in'she?"

"Vance!" Grizzly barked.

Vance winced. "Right. Sorry."

Kitty blinked once, slowly. Filing the information and reactions away. The _order_. There was an entire organization keeping her imprisoned with the Dursley's. People who seemed to think they were doing the right thing in doing so. That it was important to do so. Mrs. Figg was a member. So was likely every freak she'd yet run into.

"I, ah, didn't think Mrs. Figg was a, ah..." She glanced between them. They probably didn't call themselves freaks.

"She's a squib, kid." Grizzly grunted, and then reading the obvious confusion on her face. "Non-magical born to a magical family."

She mulled that over for a second, diverting the screaming debate on magic to a corner of her mind so she could think that over later. "Where is she?"

"Hmm?"

"Mrs. Figg. This is her house, so where is she?" She crossed her arms mulishly.

His fake eye whizzed about while his other fixed on her. "Paranoid, aren't you kid?"

She gritted her teeth. What part of this situation _didn't_ warrant paranoia? "That doesn't answer my question."

Grizzly gave a wide grin. "Arabella's fine brat. Just a bit busy."

Kitty frowned. Was Arabella Mrs. Figg's name? It _sounded_ right.

Mr. Tibbles rubbed his head against her knee. She ignored him, staring instead at Grizzly.

Inhale. Exhale. Just keep breathing. "That still doesn't answer my question."

The grizzled man gave a mildly irritated sound. "Whoever's training you didn't do a half bad job."

She glared at him. _Nobody_ was training her. (They thought somebody was training her? Didn't he just say she was _un_ trained?) " _Are_ you going to answer my questions?"

"No." He responded, deadpan.

She narrowed her eyes, before stalking over to the armchair he'd previously blown up, and sitting down. She was done here.

They'd answered more than enough anyway.

Vance scowled, turning to Grizzly.

"We're supposed to watch her- not _attack_ her."

"She's fine."

"She's _bleeding_."

Kitty frowned, glancing down at her arm where she'd tugged the porcelain out. Huh. So she was. It wasn't deep, mind- she poked it- it would heal in an hour or so, be an old scar by tomorrow and probably all but gone by the time the week was out.

A movement startled her and she looked up to see Vance in her face, wand out.

Kitty flinched, and Vance shot a glare at Grizzly. "Here. I know a bit of healing magic. Just a bit of first aid, really-"

Kitty stared at her. "It'll heal just fine on its own."

She frowned, studying her, before giving her a grin. "You're a tough one, aren't you?"

Kitty gave a very deliberate shrug.

"You don't gotta be all the time though."

She eyed the woman warily. She didn't want the woman casting _more_ magic on her. "I'd prefer you let it heal on its own."

Vance looked briefly annoyed, and opened her mouth to respond... something. The door to Mrs. Figg's house opened, and she turned to it, wand out and determination on her face.

...Were they _expecting_ an attack?

The man who walked in was on the short side, and looked as if he hadn't bathed in a week. He had long, scraggly red hair, and a patchy beard and patchy clothes. She could smell the cigarette smoke and body odor from where she sat. He was looking right at her.

"Is that... _her_?" He glanced at Vance who looked more annoyed than anything else- not an attacker then, before turning to stare at Kitty again in apparent fascination.

She narrowed her eyes into a glare. Why on _Earth_ would he be fascinated with-?

"Move along, Dung." Grizzly was something of- wait. Was the guy's name actually _Dung_?

"I don' suppose I could talk to 'er?"

Kitty kept her face entirely blank. The man's accent reminded her of her time on the streets in London. More than his accent, really. He was the type of person Aunt Petunia would cut off her own nose rather than allow into her house, even before one took into consideration he was likely a Freak. And judging by his twitchy fingers and the silver-ish candlestick poking out of one of his many pockets, she might even- probably- be right to. But it wasn't that which had her hackles up. After all, she herself was on Petunia's list of the unwelcome. It was the way he looked at her. Like she was a curiosity he was expecting to stand up and put on a show at any moment. It was disturbing.

"She's had a rough enough night as is Fletcher. _Don't you have somewhere you need to be?_ " Vance's smile was sharper than anything Kitty had ever seen, as the woman tapped her wand on her leg in clear threat.

Dung- _Fletcher_ grinned. "Aw, c'mon 'mmaline- it's not every day you get t' meet the-"

Vance's wand-weapon was now pointing directly at the man, the promise of violence in the air. _"Get."_ Her smile was almost bloodthirsty.

Fletcher paled and shuffled his way around her to the fireplace, fumbling for one of the bowls above and pulling a pinch of powder out, throwing it in the fire. The fire flashed green. "'ogwarts, Headmaster's office." And then he stepped into flames and was whisked away.

Kitty quickly revised her opinion of the woman.

Vance sneered, turning to Grizzly. "You could _smell_ the drink on him."

Grizzly grunted.

"Why Dumbledore insists on trusting him I'll never know," she continued

Grizzly was starting to look annoyed. "He knows what he's doing, Vance."

Vance grimaced, but didn't try to correct him.

Okay. So Dumbledore was definitely the leader of this... order.

And then Mrs. Figg stepped in, looking around frantically, before letting out a very physical sigh when she noticed Kitty, bustling over. " _There_ you are, you poor dear."

Kitty mentally resigned herself.

"We were so worried- your family. I don't know _who_ started those rumors but I'm sure it'll all be dealt with-" She picked up Mr. Tibbles, turning to Grizzly and Vance. "Thank you for watching after her," and then she motioned for Kitty to follow her. "Here I have some cake in the fridge and we can look over the albums. There are some new ones that are quite adorable-"

Kitty curled up further as Mrs. Figg made for the kitchen.

"I don't think she wants to look at your cats, Mrs. Figg." Vance sounded more amused than anything else and Kitty shot her a look that was half grateful, half glare- she really didn't want to owe them anything. Not that she really would- they'd kidnapped her and were holding her hostage, and-

"Nonsense- we always look over the albums-"

-and were offering her help in avoiding the never ending cat photos Mrs. Figg constantly plied her with whenever the woman babysat her. She'd rather ask Grizzly for dodge practice.

"Actually, Mrs. Figg- could I just curl up with one of the cats? I've had a bit of a day." She gave a shaky attempt at a smile.

Mrs. Figg paused, before giving a small smile. "Of course, dear. Why don't you take Ms. Whiskers-?"

Kitty tuned out the rest. Mrs. Figg was tiresome on the best of days.

Grizzly caught her gaze and rolled his eyes- both of them, gesturing subtly to the batty old woman.

Kitty allowed a small smile, even as she buried the resentment under the entirety of her exhaustion and worry and fear accumulated throughout the day.

The good news was they didn't want her dead.

* * *

It took hours for the day to end. Grizzly and Vance had left out the door to go help with the... cleanup. People kept going back and forth- always to 'Hogwarts, Headmasters Office'. Mrs. Figg continued to natter, occasionally bringing tea as Kitty tried to pretend her careful planning wasn't crumbling about her. The scrape on her side itched under its bandages.

She couldn't run- Mrs. Figg would tell the next person to come through and they'd already proven they could track her down. She couldn't win. She couldn't escape. They were too large, too many, and Kitty was just... just Kitty.

She was trapped. Powerless against overwhelming force. They wanted something from her. Otherwise they wouldn't be doing this. Wouldn't care. Wouldn't bother. Wouldn't-

Inhale. Exhale. Breathe.

They wanted something from her. There was no reason to put this much effort into her unless they wanted something from her. And Kitty was pretty sure she didn't want to give it to them.

And then it was over, Grizzly and Vance coming through the house, Vance heading out, while Grizzly stopped to talk to Mrs. Figg.

"I'm not quite happy about this," Grizzly admitted. His false eye flickered over to her, unerring, before scanning down her bandaged side, and up to the bruise on her arm, all of which was hidden under her clothes. She got the feeling he could see them anyways.

"Oh don't be silly, Alastor. Dumbledore already talked to me." Mrs. Figg was, as usual, on a different wavelength.

Grizzly- Alastor- never mind she liked Grizzly better, raised his wand. _"Obliviate."_ Mrs. Figg's face blanked. "You were babysitting Kitty Potter for her relatives. She can head home shortly."

A tweak of his wand left Mrs. Figg standing there, as Grizzly half limped, half lumbered over.

"Hey, kid."

Kitty stared at him dully. "Grizzly."

He started, before his face settled in a slightly unsettling grin. The scar across his cheek didn't help. It was genuine though, and that counted. "Grizzly, huh?"

She shrugged. "You never introduced yourself."

He nodded as if that made perfect sense. "You look after yourself, okay kid?"

"You're going to _ob-live-ee-ate_ me too, aren't you?"

He nodded. "Operational security. If we hadn't had t' step in, we wouldn't even know what part of the country you were in. You okay with this?"

She stared at him. Exhausted. It had been a long day. "If I thought I had a rat's chance in getting away, I'd be out the door already." That... had come out more honest than she'd meant it to.

Grizzly let out a low laugh. "Good answer." He paused, considering his next words. "The hand print, on your arm."

She stared at him, before smiling sadly. "My uncle has a strong grip, Mr. Grizzly. I scared him and he had to pull me away from something. An accident."

"And the bandages?"

"I tripped and fell while running."

"The scars?"

She rolled her eyes. "A fight I should have run away from."

"You sure?" He almost seemed concerned. That was a laugh and a half.

Kitty stared back at him, bland. Everything was heavy. The world, her limbs, the truth. What was he looking for? "I think the scars speak for themselves."

He gave grin, but there was something almost sad about it. "I suppose they do, don't they." And then he pointed his wand at her. _"Obliviate,"_ And rotating his hand clockwise. He'd done that before, too. "Mrs. Figg was babysitting you while your family was visiting the city. You can go home shortly."

Kitty let her face go blank, her eyes unfocus, just as she'd seen in the other... oblivated people, stilling her actions. She was tired enough it wasn't too difficult. Ms. Whiskers, the cat who had been cuddling in her lap, jumped down in annoyance at her sudden lack of attention.

She was beginning to get the impression obliviates simply didn't work on her.

Grizzly stood with a sigh, and Kitty could tell his false eye was whizzing about even with her eyes out of focus. "Damn me," he said. And then he stalked over to the fireplace. A flash of Green. "Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office."

Mrs. Figg's face cleared from its haze, and Kitty took that as her cue. "Aunt Petunia said I could head home right about now. Right, Mrs. Figg?"

Mrs. Figg frowned a moment, before checking the clock on the wall. "Oh, is _that_ the time? Oh dear. Well, off you go then. I'll phone over to make sure they know you're on your way."

Kitty gave a strained smile. "Thanks, Mrs. Figg." And then she was out the door before the woman could stop her.

She made it halfway down the block before the shakes got bad enough she had to stagger over to the nearest bush and empty the contents of her stomach.

There was an entire organization keeping her with the Dursley's. They had magic. Freaks were- had- magic. And they could use it a hell of a lot better than Kitty could.

They had wiped all memories, all evidence of Kitty's attempt to escape from the Dursley's. It hadn't been a bad attempt. It had been _working._

With the gossip network in place, and with some of what she'd actually overheard the neighbors saying, there were more than enough people in the know of what was going on that this...

This scale of operation was well beyond her capabilities. She was one person.

They had enough people to contain- everything she had put out there.

Putting everything out there had been _painful_. Having people willing to believe the proof in front of their eyes was... impossible, hopeful, terrifying. And now, in the course of a few hours, everything was simply _gone._

There was nothing Kitty could do. There was no way out in any time span that was in any way reasonable.

Getting enough people willing to help her combat _that_? Before the Freaks came back for whatever they wanted from her? Without them finding out and breaking it before it even started?

Kitty wiped her mouth on her sleeve. Her throat burned. Her eyes stung, the world was blurry. She used her other sleeve to wipe away tears and snot, and continued... back to her prison.

This wasn't... This wasn't okay.

She forced another step forward. And another.

It would look suspicious if she ran away now. The Freaks would know their attempts at controlling her had failed. They would look for- and more than likely find another way. One that worked.

Which meant her only chance at ever finding an opportunity to escape meant putting herself back in a house where a meal a day was average and she was constantly having to heal herself of injuries sustained from the other occupants. Where she was constantly in pain. Constantly in fear.

No. The only advantage she had was that their memory wipes didn't work on her, and _they didn't know that._

Which meant she had to put herself back in the cupboard under the stairs.

It was bitter, and heavy, and inevitable, and felt a hell of a lot like defeat.

She did it anyways.

* * *

 **AN: So. I was originally going to update on Tuesdays, every other week. This has changed to 'when I can get each chapter out'** **due to the existential thing that is real life. No apologies given.**

 **This was a fun chapter to write, for more than one reason. I do so hope you enjoyed it, and look forward to any feedback you wish to give.**

 **As always, thank you for reading.**


	5. Second First Contact

**AN: So. It's been a while. I have reasons. Good reasons. Like getting in a car accident and my computer dying reasons. Within the same month. Still. My apologies for the delays. Also, future updates will come as they get done. That said** – **I am not abandoning this story. Way too invested in it.**

 **This chapter was fun to write despite all the stress I had getting it out. So many intricacies despite having a lot of canon similarities. That said, Hagrid was a lot more difficult to write than I thought he would be.**

 **As always, enjoy!**

 **Disclaimer: JK Rowling wrote the Harry Potter books.**

Chapter 5: Second First Contact

* * *

Life at Privet Drive went on. Nobody remembered the mass cover-up or the events leading up to it, which Kitty supposed was rather the point of a cover-up.

Kitty was fairly certain the... the _Order_ wasn't constantly watching her outside of, perhaps, Mrs. Figg. And as Mrs. Figg couldn't see beyond her cats, that pretty much meant as long as she didn't precipitate WWIII (or leave her relative's home), anything she did would go below the radar.

It was still surreal to watch the residents of Privet Drive go about their daily lives knowing what Kitty did. That there was an entire secret society out there, willing to step in and reset everything to normalcy if something interrupted their plans.

And so Kitty kept her head down, and Autumn turned to Winter, to Spring, to Summer– with a big to do over Dudley's Birthday (there always was).

Kitty would be going to a new school. Stonewall High. It was the local public school, and not fancy like Smeltings (to which Dudley and one of his friends were going). She'd be able to raise her grades somewhat, without Dudley there to directly compete. But not too high, or Aunt Petunia might notice.

It was on a rather unremarkable summer day that things began to change. She woke up, cooked the Dursleys' breakfast, went outside to tend the garden, made lunch, cleaned a bit, and then had some time to spend out of mind and sight of her Aunt and Uncle, which she spent at the library researching everything she could get her hands on regarding magic– and when that proved useless, strategy, mythology, and anything that might prove useful in eventually getting out of her predicament.

And then she headed home before it got dark.

Her Aunt and Uncle were waiting for her– never a good sign. Or perhaps it was. Most of the time they'd never bother to _plan_ or _coordinate_ discipline when she got in trouble.

Her mind sought back. No. She'd done all her chores, and Aunt Petunia had said she wanted to cook dinner– she had a _plan_ – so Kitty wouldn't have been expected home earlier for that.

" _Girl_ ," Vernon began, and Aunt Petunia gave a small noise in the back of her throat. Vernon visibly blustered. " _Kitty_." He seemed almost like he was trying to be nice to her.

Okay. This was officially weird.

"Your aunt and I have been thinking–" And even weirder. "About your cupboard... you're really getting a bit too big for it. We think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."

What. That didn't even– "Why?" Kitty asked.

"Don't ask questions!" her uncle snapped. "Just take your stuff upstairs, now."

Kitty hesitated. None of this made any sense.

" _Now_."

The Dursley's house had four bedrooms. Her Aunt and Uncle's room, a guest room, one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all his toys and such that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It took exactly one trip to move everything that could be considered hers from her cupboard to this room.

The room was not quite a mess, and that was in many ways worse. Broken toys were stacked off to the side. Dudley's first television set– the one he'd put his foot through when his favorite program was canceled– stood in the corner. The video camera he'd gotten for this latest birthday was laying atop a small working tank of which Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbor's dog. There was an empty birdcage that once held a parrot Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which had been put up on a shelf after Dudley had sat on it and bent it to ruin. (Kitty remembered Petunia being quietly relieved when the bird had left. It had been quite messy and it wasn't as if Dudley had ever been the one caring for it.) And then there was the nominal bookshelf with actual real books. Completely untouched.

As with the rest of the house, it was all neatly organized and dusted– a combination of effort from Aunt Petunia and herself.

There was something surreal about standing in the room. Knowing she would be staying in it. Not knowing why she would be staying in it.

She was rather waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Downstairs she could hear Dudley outright bawling at his mother. "I don't _want_ her in there... I _need_ that room... make her get out..."

Aunt Petunia never denied Dudley anything. Neither did Uncle Vernon, really. That they were denying him this was... ominous.

It meant they actually thought it was important to have her in here, rather than the cupboard. Appearances, maybe?

She sat on the bed, curling her legs up in front of her. The room was too large. It didn't feel safe.

...She'd probably get in trouble for locking the door.

* * *

Kitty got in trouble for locking the door. The punishment itself was fairly light- the lock was removed and exchanged with a handle that locked from the other side. Nothing new, really.

And while Uncle Vernon went about changing the lock, and Aunt Petunia took it upon herself to dye some of Dudley's old things grey to fit Stonewall's uniform requirements (which Kitty was _not_ looking forward to wearing), Kitty started her day. By picking up the morning post.

She might have missed the letter had she not fumbled the post and had to regrasp the bunch.

It was in a thick parchment that was nicer than anything Kitty had ever seen before, the words written in an emerald-green ink and in what looked like calligraphy of some kind.

And it was addressed to her.

 **Ms. C. Potter  
** **The Smallest Bedroom  
** **4 Privet Drive  
** **Little Whinging  
** **Surrey**

Or at least, she assumed it was addressed to her. There were no other Potters in the house after all, and she'd long assumed Kitty had to be short for _something_ or other. Which probably meant that whoever sent the letter knew her name (and how unfair was _that_.)

A quick check proved a complete lack of return address, or for that matter, a stamp.

She stared at the letter almost blankly. She'd expected the Freaks (for who else could it be) to come for her. She hadn't expected them to send a letter. She also hadn't expected them to outright admit they were watching her closely enough to know which bedroom she slept in the day after she moved. Or what that implied of what they knew of her conditions. But resentment was nothing new, and easily pushed aside.

Turning the envelope over revealed a wax seal– purple– with what looked to be a coat of arms. A lion, an large bird, a badger, maybe, a snake– they were in remarkable detail, but still rather small and monochrome– all surrounding a large letter _H_.

Kitty almost slipped her letter into her cupboard before realizing that it wasn't her cupboard anymore. She couldn't hide it in Dudley's– _her_ bedroom with Uncle Vernon working on the door. The solution came in slipping it under the hallway rug until she could safely read it– possibly after dark.

If the freaks were contacting her– if they _were_ contacting her then she was likely as ready as she could be, and as ready as she _would_ be, all told.

Aunt Petunia stopped what she was doing when Kitty deposited the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter– a postcard from Aunt Marge a pamphlet of some kind, and a what looked like a bill– flipping through them, discarding the pamphlet, and putting the other two aside with a pinched face.

"Was this everything today?"

Kitty blinked once. "Yes?" Aunt Petunia studied her, eyes sharp, before motioning her over.

Kitty swallowed heavily, stepping forward, and allowing Aunt Petunia to pat her down under the guise of fixing her clothing. She'd once caught Kitty smuggling food this way; that had been a punishment to remember.

But Aunt Petunia found nothing as there was nothing to find, and turned back to her own tasks with a satisfied hum. Kitty turned herself around to go check on the garden.

She breathed easier out of the house. Aunt Petunia was expecting a letter. A letter Kitty would care about, and try to steal. A letter like the one currently hidden under the front hallway rug, addressed to the Smallest Bedroom of Number 4, Privet Drive.

It almost certainly wasn't the first of its kind. After all, the Dursley's cared about appearances above all else and if they thought someone was spying on them, well, that could be why they moved her into Dudley's second bedroom. If there had been a first letter, it was almost certainly addressed to the Cupboard Under the Stairs.

It wasn't until much later that Kitty managed to pull the letter out from its hiding place and smuggle it upstairs.

She flipped the letter between her fingers. 'The smallest bedroom'. The words felt a lot heavier than they were. But Uncle Vernon was out playing golf with some colleagues, and Aunt Petunia was sunning herself in the backyard while number six peered in every once in a while, jealous of how skinny her aunt was, or so Aunt Petunia claimed. And Dudley was out playing with his little gang. And so she could safely open the letter.

She flipped it through her fingers again. She wasn't sure she wanted to.

But if the freaks had sent her a letter, she could probably learn something from it. And she had no other leads.

The letter was far, far heavier than it had any right to be.

It was just a _letter_.

She opened it, carefully, and read.

 **HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
** ** _of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY**

 **Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore  
** _ **(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)**_

 **Dear Ms. Potter,**

 **We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.**

 **Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.**

 **Yours sincerely,**

 **Minerva McGonagall,  
** _ **Deputy Headmistress**_

Kitty stared. So Dumbledore was head of this school. And had a list of titles beside.

And it was definitely her letter. Unless there was another Potter this Dumbledore fellow was interested in, with her exact address. Which meant her first name really _wasn't_ Kitty, which was weird and uncomfortable, but also a good thing (Because Kitty was the name of a small abused girl with no traction and no hope, who lived in the cupboard under the stairs. Kitty was the name of someone who was _trapped_.).

The included equipment list had such things as a pointed hat, a wand, a cauldron. Specifically banned broomsticks. A list of spell books. An allotment for a pet Aunt Petunia would _never_ allow.

It was ridiculous. Fantastical. Impossible.

She felt hysteria bubble up in her chest and stamped it down.

The freaks wanted her to go to Wizard School. To train her. By sending her a letter with no proof, despite the fact she wasn't supposed to remember magic at _all_.

It took remarkably little effort to pull up a flame and burn the parchment to less than ash.

No. If the fr– _wizards_ wanted her, they were going to have to come get her.

* * *

It had been a week since Kitty had moved into Dudley's second bedroom, and the Dursleys were almost cheerful. Aunt Petunia would hum when preparing dinner and didn't disparage her near as much. Uncle Vernon merely ignored her for the most part and seemed rather pleased with himself over all. Dudley was as he had always been.

It was rather creepy, actually, for all it was a positive change.

And so, it was on a Monday morning– July 29th, after Kitty had finished making breakfast and bringing it to the table, that there was a booming knock on the front door.

Kitty frowned– for a knock to be that loud from the kitchen, whoever was at the door had to be hitting it pretty hard. A glance at her relatives proved a similar expression on her Aunt's face and she immediately wiped the frown from her own.

"Get the door, Dudley," Uncle Vernon didn't look up from his plate. Deliberately ignoring her again.

"Make Kitty get it."

"Kitty, get the door." It was more of a grunt than anything else, and Kitty inwardly rolled her eyes.

It wasn't like a walk to the door was going to kill anybody.

Another knock came from the front door. Had their visitor ever heard of a doorbell? Or patience? Either would do at this point. Kitty got to her feet, snagging her toast along the way lest the human garbage dump that was her cousin ate it while she couldn't defend her plate.

She was in the hallway when the knock came again- it sounded a battering ram! And indeed, she could see the wood cracking around the door, and...

Kitty abruptly stepped back as the door disengaged from the wall, falling to ground with a loud crash. Wind and splinters and sunlight streaming past her.

There was a giant on the other side of the threshold. He stood a head's height above the now-splintered door frame, and almost matched its width across the shoulder. He had a large, bushy beard that looked like it could hide a small child, and hands larger than a dinner plate. He stepped forward, ducking through the opening and straightening up again, brushing off his duster and completely ignoring the bits of glass from the door's windows falling in his wake. When he spoke, it was in a deep voice that seemed to vibrate in one's bones.

"Sorry about that."

Kitty felt kind of faint. _Sorry?_ This man had broken down the front door– for no real reason at all, she might add– and he was _sorry_?

And then he walked in a bit– Kitty backing up and ready to bolt– turned around, picked up the door, and placed it back against the door frame, light still streaming in around the edges and cracks as the frame was too damaged to hold the door. The Dursley's were probably going to blame this all on her.

Her Aunt and Uncle had rushed in, staring in shock at the giant and at the door. Kitty estimated an eruption within the next five seconds.

The giant turned to look at them all. "Couldn't make us a cup o'tea, could yeh? Bit difficult t' find this place. All the houses look the same."

Aunt Petunia let out a low keening sound from the back of her throat, and Uncle Vernon went red, puffing himself up– seemingly trying to match the giant for size. "I demand that you leave at once, sir! You are breaking and entering!"

The giant man seemed almost surprised, glancing at Uncle Vernon before snorting in amusement. "Ah shut up Dursley, ya great prune," he said, before taking a lumbering step forward.

"An' here's Kitty!" The giant was looking at her, smiling. As if he hadn't just broken down the front door and been the rudest visitor she had ever had the displeasure to observe (up to and including Uncle Vernon's sister and Piers Polkis's mother).

Kitty blinked once, slowly. "I do hope you're paying for that."

The Giant paused in confusion.

"The door I mean. You did quite a bit of damage," she paused, waiting for a response. Or an apology– though she supposed he already had apologized. But an apology alone really wasn't going to cut it.

The giant seemed honestly stumped. "It's fixable."

Kitty relaxed slightly. Words were good. Non-violent, even. "Yes. But that takes both time and money. And not having a front door? Well that's rather... bad."

The stranger raised one giant hand and I slapped his forehead. "Oh right! Yer Muggles!"

And then he took his umbrella– _umbrella_ – out from his coat and waved it at the door. It put itself together much the same way Mrs. Figg's living room had.

Behind her, Uncle Vernon made a sound like a dying animal.

She supposed if she had needed any more evidence that this man was a– wizard, it was no longer necessary.

"You–! The door–!" Uncle Vernon sputtered, before going uncharacteristically still. "You're here for the girl, aren't you?" It was more a statement than a question, and all the more terrifying because of it. "Well, I won't allow it. Pet, call the police."

Aunt Petunia straightened, and turned on her heel toward the kitchen and the phone.

"And tell them what? That he broke down the door?" Kitty's own response surprised her. She shouldn't care that the Dursley's would get egg on their face. But the giant was an outsider.

Aunt Petunia paused. "No. That he let himself in." And continued her way.

"Now wait a second–" was as far as the giant got.

"No. You listen here," said Uncle Vernon, "You broke into my home. You insulted me. You insulted my wife by ordering her about like a servant. And you used– m– m– _that_ to c–"

"Magic?" asked the giant, motioning slightly with his umbrella and almost knocking over the vase on the hallway table.

Uncle Vernon made a strangled sound in response, almost taking a step back. Kitty almost failed to hold back a snicker.

"Y-yes. Magic." He winced slightly, as if the word had a bitter taste. "You used magic to cover up any damages you may have–"

"I fixed it," the giant said, clearly annoyed. "There, good as new." He gestured with his free hand, almost taking up the entire hallway.

Kitty could see her cousin peeking out from the kitchen archway, behind his father. "How did you _do_ that?"

Uncle Vernon didn't turn away from the giant. "Dudley. Go to the kitchen." And after a moment of thought, "You too, Kitty."

Kitty blinked in surprise. Was Uncle Vernon (of all people), trying to _protect_ her?

"Now wait one second– you can't keep her from us! It's her birthright!"

Kitty stopped mid-stride from where she'd been headed to the kitchen– where Dudley hadn't budged an inch. "What do you mean by that?"

The giant turned to Kitty, and Uncle Vernon turned an interesting shade of red, puffing himself up. "Absolutely not! I forbid it!"

The giant rolled his eyes, before turning an entirely too earnest expression on her. "Yer' a witch, Kitty."

Kitty blinked once, slowly. She knew they called themselves witches and wizards– the letter had been pretty clear on that. And yet, hearing it out loud? "That's rather rude, you know."

The giant blinked, once again completely flat-footed. "No! A _witch_. With magic!" He gestured again at the door, seeming very upset at the misunderstanding. "You got yer' letter, right?"

Kitty hesitated a moment. "A letter?"

"Yer Hogwarts letter!"

She didn't honestly know how to respond to that– not with Uncle Vernon here at any rate. The Dursley's still didn't know she'd gotten that letter, and it was much safer for her if it remained that way. Luckily she didn't have to.

"Oh, here. I've got one here for yeh, jus' in case," the giant patted himself down, reaching into a few of his many pockets before producing a letter and handing it to her.

Uncle Vernon stepped forward, reaching out and pulling her away from the giant before she could even consider if she wanted to take the letter. "She'll not be going."

"Oh? And I'd like to see a great muggle like yerself try to stop her."

What even was a muggle? Kitty had all too many questions and concerns at this point, and not nearly enough time to address them. "Who _are_ you?"

The giant startled again. "Oh dear. I haven't introduced me'self! Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts. But ye' can call me Hagrid. Everybody does."

Kitty nodded thoughtfully, painfully aware of Uncle Vernon's hand on her shoulder. "And what's a Muggle?"

"It's what we call non-magic folk, like them." He nodded toward Uncle Vernon and the kitchen. "An' it's yer bad luck you grew up in a family of the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."

Uncle Vernon's grip was probably going to bruise. "We swore when we took her in we'd put a stop to that rubbish. Swore that we'd stamp it out of her– witch _indeed_."

Kitty swallowed heavily. She'd already known that her Aunt and Uncle knew about magic, and that the way they'd treated her was linked to that.

Nothing good would come of this visit.

"You should leave." The words came from her throat almost unbidden. "The police will be here soon, and you wouldn't want to be here when they get here. It could get messy."

The giant– Hagrid– paused. "I'm not leaving without giving you yer letter."

Kitty frowned, and took a deliberate step forward. Uncle Vernon let her.

The letter looked identical to the one she'd had before, and she barely looked at it as she took it, instead looking at Hagrid.

He'd seemed more confused than anything about her lack of knowledge, and too straightforward to engage in any trickery. Maybe she'd been wrong about the motives of the magical community. Or perhaps just wrong about him.

"Thank you," said Kitty.

He was still a rude houseguest, though.

The giant nodded, solemnly. "Best be off, then. Now we'll expect a reply." He turned a warning glance on Uncle Vernon that the man seemed to take to heart. And then he turned, opened the door, and made his way out.

The police showed up several minutes later.

It was kept brief– a report about a man that had forced his way in, but left when they told him they'd called the police. They gave a description, and the police said they'd keep an eye out. The hardest part had been getting Dudley to keep quiet. And then it was to her room, letting the Dursley's keep the letter.

She'd already read it, anyways, and the action seemed to appease them.

* * *

Hagrid showed up again two days later– on her birthday even. Uncle Vernon was at work. Aunt Petunia was out in the garden. And Kitty was answering the knock– much less forceful this time– at the door.

Kitty stared up at him from where she'd opened the door for a moment, before inwardly sighing. "My Aunt and Uncle don't want me to go." They'd discussed the letter. Kitty had pointed out that it didn't seem like the freaks were going to drop the matter. Aunt Petunia's face had looked like she'd bitten a lemon.

Hagrid scoffed. "Codswallop, that is! You don't belong here. You belong in our world."

"The magic world," she deadpanned back.

"Yes. The magic world. Avalon."

Kitty's eyes sharpened. She'd _read_ about that. "As in the Island of Magic Merlin sealed away?"

Hagrid seemed amused. "Well, England's an island, innit?"

Kitty paused. Okay. Something else to research, given opportunity. "Why is it so important? That I go to Hogwarts, I mean."

Hagrid gaped a moment. "Wha– No. You can't _not_ go to Hogwarts! You're _Kitty Potter_!"

Kitty rolled her eyes. "Yes. I'm Kitty Potter. So why is it so important that _Kitty Potter_ goes to Hogwarts?"

Hagrid paused. "You don't know." It was as if he had just realized something monumental, and he wiped at his eyes and face as if to clear his vision. Apparently it didn't change. "I never expected this," he said in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea. When Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh– but someone's gotta– yeh can't go off to Hogwarts not knowin'."

Kitty kept her face blank. Dumbledore again, apparently aware enough of her home situation to warn the giant that the Dursley's could be... difficult.

"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh– mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it..."

Kitty let her expression soften. Good. She was finally going to figure out what was going on. Or at least, one facet of what was going on- she wasn't sure how much Hagrid knew, considering how much he clearly didn't know walking into the situation that she was rather certain this Dumbledore _did_ know, but... Inhale. Exhale. She _didn't_ know. Anything. And the one source she did have clearly wanted something from her.

"Er... can we go inside? This is the kind o' talk one wants t' have sittin' down."

"That... would be a rather poor idea," Kitty returned. "My uncle isn't home, but my aunt is. And she'd be rather upset to see you again."

Hagrid looked a bit nervous, glancing at the houses on either side of the street. Kitty rather thought that if he were trying to be inconspicuous, he was failing miserably. It took a moment, but he seemed to come to a decision. " _Please_."

Kitty frowned. The word had weight to it beyond mere manners. Permission would not be forthcoming from her Aunt. Further, staying on the porch would gather unwanted attention to the Dursley's, who would then blame her.

Letting him in without permission would almost be worse. Not only because the Dursley's would throw a fit over it, but also because Hagrid was a giant of a man, far more capable than her with his magical capabilities, and she didn't have a hope in hell in standing against him should she need to.

She needed a plan. She needed to be elsewhere.

She took a deep breath, and let it out. "I'd need to buy school supplies." Another thing that was in question. Kitty could hardly afford anything on her own. It wasn't like she had an allowance.

"Oh that's easy– I'm to take you shopping if yeh need t'." The giant explained, still looking agitated.

Kitty blinked innocently. No. Leaving without permission at this point almost be as bad as letting the giant in. "I don't suppose you could explain that to my Aunt, could you?"

Kitty let the door open, expression set. They would discuss everything she needed to know along the way.

* * *

 **AN: One of the things I will be doing in this story is fleshing out a bit of the Wizarding World. The hows and whys of magic, so to speak, and how they shaped magical society and education and such.**


	6. The Weight of Expectation

**AN: Hi! I exist again! Maybe. I'll get back to you on that. In the meantime, here's the next chapter of Scars in the Moonlight, just in time for school to start up again. You would have thought summer would've made getting chapters out easier, but _no._ _Life_ happened. Life happens a lot.**

 **Standard Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JK Rowling does.**

Chapter 6: The Weight of Expectation

* * *

On the way happened to be on a train to London, and a bit too crowded for a private conversation about magic and whatever mystery surrounded Kitty Potter.

Kitty Potter was not amused by this. However, patience was a learned skill, and a well-practiced one at that. She would get her answers from the giant man, and should he decide to deny them to her, she would make his life a living hell. Somehow. She'd probably have to get creative.

Although. Hagrid _did_ stick out like a sore thumb, and anybody watching the two of them would hardly take at face value the words of a giant man (currently knitting what looked to be a canary yellow tent) and a small child (who was, after all, a child).

Kitty paused, taking out her Hogwarts letter and list again. And it was quite a list. Everything from the school uniform, to textbooks, to an honest telescope (which wouldn't be anything but expensive), to a magic wand and a cauldron. She was sure the list was missing things too. Like a trunk to get it all there with and supplies for note taking and the like. "Hagrid," she said slowly. Because whether she needed information or not, there were more things to consider. Like where they were going. Or how she'd buy everything she'd need when she got there.

The giant finished counting his stitches and looked over at her expectantly. Kitty eyed him. "My school things. How am I going to buy all of this? I haven't got any money." And she'd be damned if she found herself owing someone before even stepping foot in the magic world.

Hagrid made a dismissive noise- somewhere between a scoff and a chuckle. "Don' worry 'bout that. D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

Considering they left her with the Dursley's? Kitty kept her mouth shut. No. No need to provoke the likely response to that. But something must have shown on her face that even Hagrid could read, because the giant sagged a bit.

"Righ'. I keep fergettin' yeh don't know yet." The giant glanced around in what Kitty supposed was supposed to be a surreptitious manner, before staring down at his knitting for a moment. "It begins, I suppose, with - with a person called - but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows his name-"

And yet she didn't. That was kind of the whole point of this. "Who?" And what did he have to do with her school supplies?

"Well - I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."

Kitty frowned. That seemed silly. And less and less like it had anything to do with her original question. "And why don't they?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Kitty, people are still scared," the giant seemed a bit exasperated. "Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was..." Hagrid opened his mouth, but no words came out. Almost as if he couldn't. He was scared of this wizard, and probably with good reason.

Kitty closed her eyes. If he did have a good reason, if this person was so important and utterly terrifying, then she needed to know, if only so she could better avoid. Inhale. Exhale. "Could you write it down?"

"Nah. Can't spell it."

Kitty twitched. Hagrid grinned at the reaction, even as she looked muttered a quick, "Sorry."

"I's alight," the giant said, before visibly steeling himself, "Voldemort." He let out a shaky breath, eyes seeming to search the surroundings briefly for threats before focusing back on her. "Anyway, this - this wizard, about twenty years ago now, he built himself a followin' and started gatherin' power. Dark days. Didn't know who ter trust- anyone could be an enemy. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him - an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway. Right haven it was- but it was only a matter o' time-" He shook his head as if to clear a thought.

Kitty frowned. So this Voldemort guy was a tyrant then, and a murderer. And probably no longer around given Hagrid was speaking in the past tense. Kitty hoped he was no longer around. He sounded like someone to avoid, or at least treat with extreme caution- even if Hagrid was probably horribly biased. Then again, it sounded like he was talking about a war- hopefully not an active war. It would suck to be dragged into an active war. But even if it wasn't, history was written by the winners and there were always at least two sides to a story. That didn't make the winners inherently wrong though.

"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew," Hagrid continued, and Kitty turned all her attention to him. Her _parents_. He was telling her about her _parents_. "In'credibly bright, the both of 'em. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts!" -wait, like a school prefect? "You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side... myst'ry that is. Probably knew they didn' want anythin' ter do with 'im."

"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em... maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' - an' -"

Hagrid took a hitched breath, reaching into one of his pockets and fishing around for what turned out to be a very dirty handkerchief. Kitty stared numbly.

Her parents. He was telling her how they _died_. How this _Voldemort_ was the reason he died.

She kind of wondered where the car crash came in, even as a part of her wanted everything to be a lie. To walk out the metaphorical door and find out her parents were- what? Alive this whole time? That would almost be worse.

Though the Dursley's had said that her parents had been deadbeats and drunks- on the dole. Of course, they were also the ones who said anything about a car crash.

Hagrid's story was certainly more appealing.

"Sorry," he said. "But it's that sad - knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find - anyway..."

She hoped it was true. That her parents had been wonderful people. That they'd loved her. That they wouldn't have simply left her with the Dursley's.

"You-Know-Who killed 'em."

Not a car crash then. Killed implied murder, and murder implied- Kitty felt like there was a hole in her chest. Like breathing was something she had to focus on to do right. She tried to push it away.

If wishes were fishes they'd all live in the sea.

Hagrid was still dabbing at his eyes. "An' then - an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing - he tried to kill you, too."

" _What_?" Suddenly it became a lot easier to focus. How did-? Why did-? But she was _alive_!

Hagrid blinked at her- Kitty's exclamation having jolted him out of his own story. "Er- he tried to kill you too?"

That's what she thought she heard. "But I was _one_!"

Hagrid nodded warily. "He weren't known for being upstandin' folk."

Kitty gaped. "No. I can believe _that_. But I was one! How on Earth did I survive?"

Hagrid finally seemed to understand the question. "An' that there's the myst'ry."

Kitty gaped. "So he tried to kill me, and I survived." She spoke slowly, more confused than she cared to admit.

Hagrid cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable, muttering under his breath. "Knew I wasn't the right person fer this," before shaking the thought off. "Right. He, err... tried to kill yeh. Used a curse- the killing curse, dark thing, kills instantly and he 'twas known to throw 'em around. Isn't blockable, an' no one's ever survived gettin' hit. 'cept you."

Kitty frowned. That was... was there really a curse? like that? If she'd supposedly survived then it clearly wasn't perfect, but then... "How do they know he even used that curse, anyway?"

Hagrid's eyes glanced up at her forehead, and Kitty frowned patting down her bangs self-consciously. Her hair wasn't a rat's nest again, was it?

"They really didn' tell yeh nothin', did they?"

Kitty frowned. "What do you mean?"

"'Bout magic. 'Bout Hogwarts."

Kitty grimaced in agreement. "My Aunt and Uncle would prefer to pretend neither existed."

Hagrid nodded once, apparently deep in thought. "You have a scar on your forehead."

Kitty abruptly cut off her own response, peering at the giant suspiciously, her hand going back up to her bangs. Bangs that covered- quite purposefully- the lightning bolt scar that never even tried to fade with time like any other scar would have long ago.

"That there's no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh."

Kitty swallowed.

"You gotta understand, Kitty. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em. An' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age - the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts - and you was only a baby, Kitty. An' you _lived_." Hagrid was seemingly far away for a moment, handkerchief crumpled in his oversized paw, forgotten, even as he sniffled a bit. He shook his head to clear whatever thought there was and focused back on her. "The killing curse- it didn't work on you. An' that's why you're famous, Kitty. Yer the Girl-who-lived."

That- but- Kitty took a deep breath. So that's what that name meant. Maybe. Okay. Almost certainly. It would be pretty hard to hide if she had access to more people, but- it wasn't in regard to her aunt and uncle trying to kill her. She was-

Exhale. Famous. Because she'd survived something horrendous at the hands of an infamous murderer. Okay. She could deal with that. Probably.

Hagrid was watching her sadly.

"What happened to Voldemort?" Kitty asked realizing a moment too late that Hagrid's full body flinch was probably to be expected. "Sorry. Ah-" What had he called him? "You-Know-Who?"

Hagrid's scan of the surrounding train car came up negative and he turned back to her. "Right. Good question. He disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. He wasn' one t' hide an' people who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don~ reckon they could've done if he was comin' back."

Kitty watched the giant, taking in everything he said, mulling it about. He clearly believed all of it. Had clearly lived it.

It was about as unbelievable as magic was, which was precisely the problem.

"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers, too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Kitty. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on - I dunno what it was, no one does - can only guess really. But you survived, and he vanished." Hagrid nodded to himself, apparently happy with his conclusion.

Kitty hesitated. "So he might not be dead?"

Hagrid huffed, shaking himself. "Maybe, maybe not. But he's not something for yeh to worry over."

Kitty frowned. Okay. Probably actually dead, then. And people were still scared of him. Something to look into, but not urgent.

And she was famous in Avalon. For surviving where her parents hadn't. Her parents that- she took a deep breath. She should be asking about Avalon. She should be trying to find any detail she could work to her advantage, or at least not to her disadvantage. It was an entirely new culture after all. Except- she could assume most people in Avalon knew about Avalon. Hell, there were probably books written about Avalon, by Avalon, just as there were plenty of books about England. They probably wouldn't expect her to be all knowing about the magical world anyway, and... and Hagrid knew about her parents. Her dead parents, that she'd never met, that she knew nothing about, that...

"My Aunt and Uncle didn't tell me anything about my parents," the words sounded stilted, forced, almost choked out against her will. But they did their job.

Hagrid blinked, and frowned. "Nothin'?"

Kitty swallowed. She hated to admit ignorance, but- "Not even their names." Never mind their string of lies- layabouts, drunks, died in a car crash. So clearly lies that it wasn't even worth mentioning.

Hagrid's face looked thunderous. "They-" He took a deep breath, visibly calming himself. "Lily and James Potter. They were Gryffindors. Nicest people ya' could meet. Incredibly bright and brave, the both of them."

"Gryffindors?" The word was odd.

"One of the Hogwarts Houses." He seemed mildly uncomfortable at the question, so Kitty dropped the line of questioning- she could follow up later.

"What did they look like?" And at his questioning look, "My parents."

She probably could have struck him and done less damage, she decided. He reeled from the question, gaping slightly, an almost angry expression- though not at her, thankfully, followed by a pitying one.

Kitty hated being pitied. But she set her jaw. It was too late to take the question back.

"Your mum was beautiful. Red hair, and green eyes jus' like yours. Real fiery temper when she got riled. And yer da, well. He had messy hair- you got yer hair from 'im. An' he wore glasses. Both of 'em were pretty tall-" He paused, in thought. "I'm sure I 'ave a few photos of 'em lying around. I'll make sure to get them to y'."

Kitty's reply stuck in her throat, and she found herself nodding. She- okay. Clearly Hagrid wasn't all bad. She- damn. She probably owed him at this rate. "I'd like that."

She looked down at the letter in her hands, at the list. Right. That was where this had started. Worrying about money seemed so very petty right then. "So how am I going to be able to pay for this, then?" She hated asking the question. But if she couldn't afford the list in her hand this entire trip would be…

Hagrid paused, then turned to look at her. "Yer a Potter, Kitty. The last Potter." He seemed uncomfortable saying more.

"I see." Kitty said. And she did. Because Hagrid had said that name like it meant something. And she supposed it did.

She didn't have all the details yet.

She folded up the equipment list carefully, putting it back into the envelope. She'd deal with that when they got there. Speaking of—"So where _are_ we going, Hagrid?"

Hagrid grinned.

* * *

Kitty was fairly certain she'd never met anyone quite as... Hagrid as this Hagrid was. He seemed quite unaware of his surroundings or the consequences of his actions, and quite possibly unable to pick up on some of the subtler social cues. That said, he was also straightforward and earnest in a way that was difficult to dislike, and was more than willing to answer most of her questions to the best of his ability.

It would probably help if she knew which questions to ask. As it was, she was silently fuming in the giant's shadow as they made their way down Charring Cross road- mostly due to Hagrid's insistence that _where_ they were going remain a surprise.

Kitty did not like surprises- a fact that seemed to amuse the man more than anything else.

She was considering her vengeance plan again. Just a little.

Kitty almost missed the door in the wall- mostly because it was a door in the wall. It didn't have a storefront in any sense- rather it looked like one of the stairwells that led up to the buildings above the street-level shops on either side. If it wasn't for the rickety sign above the door, she would have thought it just that.

The Leaky Cauldron.

She hoped the name wasn't reminiscent of whatever wares they sold. She was rather under the impression cauldrons were not supposed to leak.

And then Hagrid opened the door, and Kitty followed him in.

It was a pub. Run down. Old. The walls were rough, covered in paintings that moved. Light was provided by gas lamps. A bartender almost as old as the bar itself stood behind a heavy wooden counter, cleaning a glass as he talked to someone in a- she was fairly certain they were robes at this point. Dozens of patrons in pointed hats and layered robes sat at the thickly hewn tables throughout the space. A giant stone fireplace stood off to the side, big enough to swallow a person whole. The air was heavy with the smell of smoke, and grease, and food.

It was a far, far larger space than it had any right to be.

A few customers glanced at the door as it opened, giving greeting to Hagrid as she hid in his shadow.

"Your usual, Hagrid?" The bartender asked, already reaching for a tankard.

Kitty flinched as a heavy hand settled on her shoulder, pulling her out of the giant man's shadow. "Not today, Tom. I'm here on Hogwarts business, see."

The bartender nodded, turning to look down at her curiously, before he froze, the wide smile on his face fading into surprise and awe.

"Bless my soul, it's Kitty Potter."

Hagrid beamed. A hush fell over the room, all eyes turning to the small girl in too baggy clothes staring back with wide eyes. The old man Tom rushed out from behind the bar and seized her hand, shaking it up and down.

"Welcome back, Ms. Potter. Welcome back."

So _this_ was what Hagrid meant when he said that she was famous. This wasn't simply "everybody knows your name", no. This was full out Princess Diana crowd, wizarding world darling levels of celebrity, with all and sunder lining up to _shake her hand_.

And she had no idea how to deal with it. She wasn't Princess Diana, raised knowing she was important or famous. Kitty had been raised by Aunt Petunia, who'd ensured any attention directed her way was negative, who played herself off as an upstanding member of society, managing tea parties and sticking her nose into everyone's business. Kitty was all too aware of how gossip worked- how people liked to see celebrities fall. And now she was one.

Kitty plastered a smile on her face, even as she shifted from foot to foot, shaking the next hand.

"Doris Crockford, Ms. Potter. I can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

Kitty didn't have time to respond before the hand was replaced with a "So proud, Ms. Potter, I'm just so proud," and then an "always wanted to shake your hand-" and a "delighted, Ms. Potter. Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle," wait- was that? "I'm so glad you're back with us-" she could have _sworn_ , "I'm all aflutter, dear. You can call me Doris-" had that been _Digg_? "It's an honor-"

She let her grin widen as she grasped the next hand a little more firmly, before stepping back into Hagrid's space before her hand could be reclaimed.

That was _it_.

"It's a pleasure to meet all of you." Kitty said, "But we really must be going."

She grabbed Hagrid's hand, towing him through the crowd that- lo and behold- actually parted.

"Ah, Kitty-" Hagrid began, even as she towed him through the only other apparent exit into- a dead end alley? She could have sworn she saw someone come in through here- and it was the only viable alternate exit.

Kitty ignored him, taking a step back and crossing her arms, raising an eyebrow in her best 'and now what' look. If this was not, in fact, some sort of trick, and he'd simply taken her to some random pub to get mobbed, she was going to be pissed.

"I'm pretty sure I saw one of yer professors-"

"I am not going back in there." Kitty's voice was flat.

Hagrid studied her a moment, then sighed, turning to the back wall, and tapping it three times with his umbrella.

And then the wall opened up, bricks rotating in upon themselves until they formed an archway that led into a full blown street.

"Welcome," Hagrid said, arm sweeping wide, "to Diagon Alley."

Kitty felt her expression slip in spite of herself.

Magical.

The marketplace, this 'Diagon Alley' was wide, and open. Shopkeepers stood in front of shops and stalls, hawking their wares, or in some more interesting cases, the wares hawking themselves. Toy broomsticks, and anything that size had to be a toy, chased themselves around what looked to be a broom shop. The air smelled of spices and leather and wood, and a whole host of other things Kitty couldn't name. Animals flitted about on occasion, as much a part of the life as the shop keepers and window shoppers. And the window shoppers- everything from squabbling families to children running on ahead, to an older couple putting on a distinctly lordly attitude, and even some people she was fairly certain weren't human milled about the alley, visited shops, and generally enjoyed themselves. Two women stood before an apothecary, or perhaps a grocery (though if it were the food didn't look at all appetizing), haggling loudly with a clerk.

There was so very much, a full blown society, entirely hidden from the normal world.

It was too much. The amount of effort someone would have to go through to fake something like this was astronomical. They, this mysterious Order, couldn't fake something like this. Not long term.

It was real. An entire culture for her to explore and learn about.

Kitty glanced up at Hagrid, who was beaming down at her in pride, showing off a landmark, part of his home, then back at the alley. A small group of teenagers pulled each other through the streets. Something blew up in a storefront three buildings down. An old, very old sign declaring that an ice cream shop catered to witches and wizards from _any_ walk of life swung back and forth, paints peeled and wood chipped.

Everything- everything _was_. The Order, whatever else it might be, was a part of this. A different perspective. Misguided perhaps, but clearly trying to work towards her benefit.

Witches and wizards were hiding an entire society from the rest of the world. An entire country, even. Possibly more than one across the entire globe. Almost _certainly_ more than one across the entire globe. She was but a speck in whatever conspiracy she thought had surrounded her.

There was every chance that with access to more of these people, she could get out from under the Dursley's thumb. That she could start working towards her own independence.

They might not even try to stop her.

It was like bracing to hold up the sky only to find what she'd assumed would be the heaviest weight in the world was more than manageable.

A large hand fell on her shoulder, and Kitty blinked, turning to look up at Hagrid, who seemed rather concerned. "Are you alright?"

Kitty forced herself back into focus, blinking up at the man.

No. She couldn't assume anything. Not until she had far more information than she had and-

Kitty grinned, bouncing up and down on her toes. "Do they have a library?"

Hagrid stared at her mildly surprised, before he chuckled. She could have sworn he muttered something about a raven's claws, but that was secondary.

Because she had an entire new culture to learn about and her freedom to obtain. And quite possibly now, the resources to do so.


	7. At an Angle

**Disclaimer: Harry Potter was written by J.K. Rowling.**

 **Chapter 7: At an Angle**

Gringotts. The wizard's bank, Hagrid had said. Run by goblins. Where, presumably—he hadn't outright said one way or the other—her parents had left her enough money to get to adulthood. It was a tall building, at the end of the alley, snow white stone with burnished bronze doors that stood twice as tall as Hagrid did, flanked by two columns that went easily three times as tall as that. And on either side of the door stood what she assumed was a goblin. The goblins were slightly shorter than her, which was novel, though they seemed no less dangerous despite that. They stood solidly, at attention, wearing armor and with weapons that were clearly not just for show. Or perhaps they were—it wasn't like Kitty had ever been quite this close to a battle axe before.

"Those are goblins, fer sure. Clever as they come, but not the most friendly."

She turned her gaze to Hagrid. Did he expect armed security guards to be _friendly_? Or even bankers? Uncle Vernon had an entire rant to do with bankers—not that she'd relied on his opinion without making sure he wasn't blowing smoke first. But the bank was—fancy. Over the top. And she was here in—she picked at the hem of her shirt—Dudley's old rags. Which, well. If the Dursley's had taught her anything, it was that everybody—no matter who they actually were—judged people on appearances first. And first impressions were important.

Hagrid put his hand on her shoulder when she'd stopped, steering her into the building. She took a moment to shake him off, glaring at him. She could damn well walk under her own power and—

Inhale, exhale. Breathe. She could do this. She had to do this. Projecting an image of strength was damn well important if she ever wanted to be taken seriously. She squared her shoulders, and stepped forward on her own.

The goblins bowed as they passed. Armed greeters, it seemed. Which was odd enough on its own.

Behind the first set of doors was a small waiting area, and on the other side of that was another door. This one of silver, and slightly smaller, with words engraved upon it. Kitty paused, stepping up to read.

Enter, stranger, but take heed

Of what awaits the sin of greed

For those who take, but do not earn

Must pay most dearly in their turn

So if you seek beneath our floors

A treasure that was never yours

Thief, you have been warned, beware

Of finding more than treasure there.

She traced the last line with her hand—it was about head height for her, before stepping back, glancing at Hagrid, who nodded. "You'd be mad ter try an' rob it. There's no safer place. 'Cept 'haps Hogwarts."

"A _school_ is safer than a fortified bank for keeping stuff?" She sounded more than a little incredulous to her own ears.

"'Tis a castle, with thousand year ol' wards. An' it has Dumbledore."

Kitty stared a moment, before internally sighing. It would seem she'd have to look up what wards were. She already had enough of a list to have to write everything down. And seeing as there were not, in fact, public libraries, it may be rather difficult to actually find anything before she got to Hogwarts and its supposed famous library.

They probably weren't lying there. If there were not, in fact, public libraries, the only semi-public, well-stocked one would have to be famous.

...If Kitty were honest with herself, she'd have to admit that the revelation that public libraries were not a thing in Avalon had left her rather miffed, and that she was currently being somewhat petty in her judgments.

A pair of goblins bowed them through the silver door and into of the bank. Within was a magnificent hall in proportion to the rest of the building, seemingly all the taller due to the small stature of the goblins themselves. Dozens of goblins were sitting on high stools behind long counters on either side of the way, making notes in oversized ledgers, weighing coins using old-fashioned brass scales, examining precious stones through magnifying glass to ascertain worth. There were too many doors to count leading off the hall, and yet more goblins were showing people in and out of those , ever courteous and accepting the occasional tip. It was a hive, and Kitty felt rather small.

They made their way to the first free goblin at the counter, and Hagrid cleared his throat. "Mornin'. We're here to take money out of Ms. Kitty Potter's safe."

The goblin's face was difficult to read, Kitty thought. If only because he didn't quite react as a human's face might, but Kitty thought he looked somewhat bored. He hadn't even looked at her yet, either. "Do you have the key, sir?"

"Ah, got it here somewhere," said Hagrid, digging in his pockets. The first thing out of his pockets was a handful of moldy dog biscuits, which the giant managed to scatter over the goblin's book of numbers. So that's what a goblin's annoyed face looked like. The second thing out of his pocket was a used handkerchief. And a crumpled bit of newspaper, a small book, and— "Got it," said Hagrid at last, holding up a tiny golden key.

...Kitty couldn't help but feel the man was rather disgusting, as he scooped everything back into his pockets. Why on Earth would he carry around so much trash?

"Well _that_ seems to be in order." The goblin was inspecting the key when she turned back to him. He still hadn't bothered to look at her.

"I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore. It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen." He apparently held the letter in higher regard than he did her key, as he was able to produce it immediately.

The goblin took the letter, touching it sparingly, and reading it carefully, face tight. He glanced up at Hagrid, studying him, before lowering the parchment. "Very well. I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"

He waved his hand in dismissal, not even looking behind him to see if the goblin he'd named was actually there. She could see him trying to clean off his ledger after Hagrid turned away, before glancing down at her. She blinked up at him, smiled apologetically, and turned to shadow the giant who was now following who she assumed to be Griphook.

Down to the vaults apparently led down one flight of stairs and onto a ledge over a large cavern, upon which a cart waited for them. The cart was... not what Kitty had expected from a mining cart. It was completely made from metal, more of a frame with the frontmost 'drivers' seat above a spotlight lamp, and the seats along the middle facing outward. It looked vaguely like what she'd imagine a roller-coaster might look, if roller coasters did away with everything vaguely resembling safety measures. The rather steep drop the track made did nothing but reinforce that image.

"This way." It was... Griphook, the goblin. Leading them directly onto the cart. Kitty swallowed, and followed the Goblin and the Giant, sitting herself carefully on the seat. That she also had a death grip on that seat thankfully went unremarked upon.

If she remembered anything from Dudley's trip to Alton Towers with his parents, it was Dudley talking about how awesome the roller coasters were and complaining how he wished the rides were longer, and how shrill Aunt Petunia had been when worrying over the safety conditions and how many different things could go wrong.

Five and a half minutes later, Kitty had decided that the Gringotts mining carts were probably very similar to roller coasters, sans the whole going upside-down part. And the part where it was probably much longer than the average roller coaster ride. And the part where they somehow controlled a system of railroad switches _at speed_. That last one was easily the most terrifying.

And even so... Kitty peeled her hands off the cart's seat, fighting back the giddiness of adrenaline, turning to look at what was apparently her vault. And froze.

Because there in the stone, above the bronze vault door they'd stopped at, was carved a name.

CATHERINE AMARANT POTTER

Was... was that _her_? Maybe it was an ancestor of hers. Or maybe...

She'd long known that Kitty had to be short for _something_. The letter had been addressed to a C. Potter. Not a K. Not a Kitty.

She swallowed down the panic. There _had_ to be a way to check that. There had to be.

Kitty climbed out of the cart, glancing at Hagrid where he was leaning against a pillar with shaky legs and looking somewhat green. Griphook was using her key to unlock the vault, before stepping back and returning the key to Hagrid.

That was another thing. Was there a reason that Hagrid—someone she had met all of once before, and under less than ideal circumstances at that—had her key? It was probably better than the Dursley's having access to it, but _still_.

The vault door—tall enough that a grown man could walk through, even if Hagrid would have to duck—swung open.

Gold, silver, and bronze. Piles of coins as tall as _she_ was. She stared a moment, jumping as Hagrid put a massive hand on her shoulder. "All yours, Kitty."

She stepped into the vault looking around. It was much larger than she'd expected it to be—easily as large as the cupboard under the stairs, though she supposed that made sense if the main currency was as bulky as coins. She wondered how much it was all worth. There was a book next to the door of the vault. No—she realized, it was a ledger, similar to the ones she'd seen in the Gringotts Hall above.

Fingers brushed out, and she lifted the book—heavier than she'd expected—into her arms, opening the cover. It was indeed a ledger for the vault, detailing the amount of money in the vault—something like 52 thousand galleons—whatever _those_ were- and every transaction the vault had been involved in since it had been opened on July 31, 1980. And there were a lot of them—a fee to Gringotts to keep the vault open, a yearly transfer of galleons from the Potter Vault to her—her trust vault, a few more that seemed to be outgoing, though she couldn't say for what.

"Griphook," she said, rapidly trying to remember everything she'd ever heard Uncle Dursley bluster to Dudley and Aunt Petunia in terms of finance and negotiation. He was quite proud of his skill and had wanted to pass it on to the next generation—a lost cause if you asked her. "Do you know who I could talk to in regards to my finances? I'd like to know what I'm dealing with."

"Now, now—I can explain anythin' y' need ter know—" Hagrid began, "Professor Dumbledore himself entrusted me t'—"

She turned to give the giant a look and he fell silent, she studied him for a long moment, before chirping, "Okay! Is there some sort of rule that say that I can't have access to my own vault without supervision, or is the key just in Dumbledore's hands—entrusted to you—he obviously trusts you very much—because..." she paused, unable to come up with a good reason other than outright accusing the man of trying to use his positions of authority to control and or steal from her. "Why _does_ Dumbledore have my key?"

Hagrid was gaping at her, alternating between puffing up in pride and just looking confused. Kitty swore she saw the goblin smirking a bit behind him. "He's yer magical guardian," he finally managed. "Because yer a, ah—" he paused again, looking uncomfortable. "Because yer 'n orphan."

She stared him down, before nodding slightly. "Oh. Okay. Can I hold onto it? I should be responsible for my own key, right?"

The giant blinked. "Ah—sure, here."

Kitty beamed up at him. "Thanks Hagrid!"

The man almost seemed embarrassed at getting thanked so. "Jus—hold onto it. You don' wan' jus' anyone gettin' ahold o' it, yeh hear?"

She nodded obediently, deciding to drop the subject for now. There was nothing to say she couldn't come back later. "My parents left this to me. It's only right that I look after it."

Something in Hagrid relaxed at that, and she smiled up at him. "So how much is a..." she fished for the word she'd seen in the ledger, "galleon worth?"

Hagrid grinned a little, producing a small sack, moving forward to help Kitty pile some coins in. "O' course I can help y' there. The galleons are the gold ones. He held it up, dropping it into the bag. There's 17 silver sickles to a galleon, and 29 bronze knuts to a sickle."

Kitty resigned herself to getting very good at her 17 and 29 multiplication tables. He hadn't really answered her question though. "Mr. Griphook? Do you know what the conversion rate is from galleons to pounds sterling?"

"The current exchange rate is £14.85 to a galleon," the goblin answered, sounding somewhat grumpy.

She nodded, handing him a sickle. Which, was... about a pound? A small tip, but it was probably common information anyway. So for value... "Thank you."

The goblin bared his teeth at her in a parody of a grin. "There's a 10% exchange fee in either direction."

She bared her teeth similarly at him in return. That was... how did one calculate that again? Percentages were of 100, with decimal point math. Something else to hit the library for.

They finished loading the bag Hagrid had brought with almost 50 galleons, and a handful of sickles and knuts each. Kitty did the math. Almost £750. Which was... easily more money than she'd ever held in her life. This was... a little overwhelming. Also heavy.

"Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms." Hagrid said, standing up. He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"

The goblin stared at him with a slight scowl. "One speed only."

Hagrid visibly drooped.

* * *

Vault seven hundred and thirteen was far deeper in the cave system than her vault had been. The air was cold, and damp, and Kitty could have sworn that they'd passed a dragon at one point—breathing fire even. She wondered how deep the caverns went—though it made sense that the high security vaults were deeper down.

"Stand back," Griphook said, walking forward importantly but producing no key. Hagrid hadn't given the manager up front one, she remembered. Just a letter.

Griphook stroked the door gently, with one of his fingers, and the door pulled open, completely silent.

Griphook grinned at her. "If anyone other than a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped there."

Kitty blinked. "That sounds unpleasant." She was well acquainted with being locked into small spaces, but that was neither here nor there. Because there was no way a bed of coins would ever be comfortable, and there was also no way to get out. It was probably a decent way to capture thieves though, she supposed.

Griphook's grin grew wider.

Inside the vault was empty but for a small package, maybe a little larger than a fist—her fist, not Hagrid's. It didn't look like much, brown packing paper and twine. Hagrid picked it up, placing it in his coat, and stepping back.

"Alright, back to the surface," Hagrid said, very clearly wanting to leave. Kitty frowned at him. He looked quite green, still, and the ride up wasn't going to be any slower considering that at one point between the two vaults they'd gone uphill for a distance and not slowed much at all.

Kitty made sure to not sit behind him on the way back.

* * *

Diagon Alley was much brighter and louder than the depth of the Gringotts caverns, which was expected really, but made for an odd dichotomy. Kitty looked over her list, even as Hagrid leaned against a storefront, green and with shaky legs. She could sympathize—she was fairly certain that Griphook had been lying about the carts being one speed only and had deliberately sped up to mess with the Giant.

"Can we start with the wand?" Kitty asked. She was more than a little curious about the stick weapons. How they worked. If they made magic easier.

Hagrid started, for a moment, before nodding shakily. "Here. I'll walk yeh there. Would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts."

Kitty shrugged, not caring one way or another. "Not particularly."

Ollivander's was the name of the shop, and Kitty entered it hesitantly. It didn't look like much. But it was the shop Hagrid had left her at. It was... rundown probably wasn't the right word for it. Dusty, certainly. Charged. It was charged. With magic or anticipation, she couldn't tell, but it hung in the air with the dust that was visible in the streams of light from the windows. She padded up to the counter—made of hard wood and worn down with age, looking for the proprietor, who was likely somewhere in back. A bell had rung when she entered though, so they were likely on their way.

She took a moment to examine an odd painting on the wall depicting some sort of magic fight. It was moving, and not in a continuous loop even, like a video. Unless it was a really long video. Except... one of the fighters had looked at her as she studied the painting, and made a rude gesture at her, telling her he'd take her on as soon as he'd wiped the floor with the others, and... definitely not a loop.

Paintings moved—she'd seen it in the Leaky Cauldron too—and they seemed to be at least somewhat self-aware. Which was... well, it had interesting implications, one could say.

"Good afternoon."

Kitty whirled around, spotting the man behind the counter almost immediately—he was hard to miss. Pale, with hair white from age and silvery eyes gleaming like the moon.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to relax. "Good afternoon, sir."

The old man—Mr. Ollivander, in all likelihood, smiled at her. "Ah, yes. Miss Kitty Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. She was a talented witch, you know. Ten and a quarter inches, swishy, made of willow with the heartstring of a Ukrainian Ironbelly. Nice wand for charm work."

Kitty blinked, stepping back as Ollivander moved around the counter. "Your father, mahogany and unicorn hair. Eleven inches and pliable. Very good for transfiguration."

The man hadn't blinked once since she'd seen him, nor had his gaze wavered from Kitty. It was... unnerving, and he kept stepping into her personal space, and... inhale, exhale. Breathe.

"Does it matter?"

"Hmm?" The man had turned away, finally.

"What wands my parents had? Is there some sort of correlation?" she managed to keep the waver out of her voice, to which she was rather proud.

He turned back to her. Damn. "Occasionally, and occasionally not. One's nature is not always the same as their parent's, and the wand _does_ choose the wizard—or witch—of course. A parent's wand may work for their child, but as often as not, the wand will fight them."

Kitty frowned. "You talk as if they are alive."

"Alive? Perhaps, perhaps. Magic is alive, you know. And it is a truth in this world that, that of which channels magic is changed by it." He was almost humming to himself, poking through one of the shelves accessible on the customer side of the counter, straightening something. "Well, now, Miss Potter," he'd pulled out a long tape measure, she realized. "Which is your wand arm?"

Kitty binked? "Wand arm?"

"Which hand are you going to use your wand with, Miss Potter." He seemed mildly annoyed that she was throwing off his act for clarification, but Kitty found no pity within herself for the man.

She blinked. "Could I use both? Will that effect it?"

"Yes."

Kitty stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate. The man sighed. "Think of your wand as something that channels magic. You have channels that you naturally create about you, and the wand connects to them to help you focus magic. The channels from one hand will likely be similar to the other, but reversed. You could still use it, of course. It will simply be less effective. Not as bad as an ill-matching wand but... all the same."

Kitty frowned. "My right hand." She wrote with her right, so she probably had more precision there.

"Very good. Now hold out your arm."

Kitty did so, and the man measured from her shoulder to her finger, then her wrist to her elbow, then shoulder to floor. At which point he let go of the tape measure and walked away to let the tape measure measure her itself.

"Won't these measurements change as I grow?"

"Hmm? Yes. But once a wand is matched it will grow with you. Like a good pair of shoes molds to your feet. Which is why you're not likely to ever get as good a match with another's wand."

"Huh."

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled to the floor. "Right then. Try this one. Beech wood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches, nice and flexible."

She took the wand gingerly, trying to feel the connection Mr. Ollivander said was there. It... wasn't, as far as she could tell, which told her absolutely nothing. Maybe she just didn't know what she was looking for. She sighed, waving the wand, and immediately flinched. A vase exploded off to the side. That was... wrong. The could feel it now. So wrong. Off key, nails on a chalkboard, wrong.

Mr. Ollivander snatched the wand back out of her hand, replacing it immediately with a, "Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try—" This one Kitty didn't even wave—it felt jarring, and not in a good way. Apparently this was noticeable because a third wand— "ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy"— replaced it. This one felt better, so she waved it, an entire line of filing cabinets pulling out from their moors— "no, no—definitely not," and another wand replaced that one.

This went on for quite a few wands, with Ollivander seemingly all too happy as it continued. Was he drawing this out on purpose? It wasn't like Kitty _liked_ the raw feeling of an ill-matched wand.

And then he paused, in front of a shelf on the far side, hand touching a box. "Oh. Oh dear. That _would_ be something, now wouldn't it."

Kitty placed the latest wand in the small pile growing in front of her, and took a step back, studying Ollivander as he stood staring at the still closed box, still on its shelf. He glanced back at her. She raised her eyebrow.

Ollivander huffed, tugging the box carefully from underneath a few others. "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." The words were matter of fact, as he opened the box, and held it out to her.

Kitty frowned, studying the wand. It was a lighter wood, with the handle still encased in bark, sanded down. Nothing special in comparison to the others she had tried—she glanced up at Ollivander—except that _he_ seemed to believe it was.

She sighed internally, and lifted the wand from the case.

It didn't feel bad. Not at all abrasive, anyway, which was a relief after that last three dozen or so wands. Not that there hadn't been some wands that were _less_ abrasive in that bunch, because there had been. But none of them fit quite right, and none of them had seemed to _want_ to either. This one—this one _might_.

She waved the wand, and the wand, like those before it, pulled magic through her hand. Unlike the wands beforehand there was no... chafing, jarring, _grating_ feeling. It wasn't perfect, but it didn't... hurt wasn't quite the right word. Her right hand felt raw in a very metaphysical way.

The wand had connected, nonetheless, pulling magic around and through her, overflowing into a magical haze that felt... _right, warm, comfortable_. Like Kitty had found a way to breathe for the first time without an elephant standing on her chest.

It was... it was something else, something _beyond_.

"Oh indeed! Good, very good—" He seemed very excited, and Kitty found herself smiling.

"It's not perfect, but..."

The man seemed mildly surprised. "Does a new pair of shoes feel perfect the moment you step in them?"

She shrugged. She wouldn't know. She'd been wearing Dudley's old shoes for as long as she could remember.

"The wand fits. It's quite curious you can feel the flow of magic so well, but I suppose that's to be expected." He glanced up at her scar, then down at her wand. "Quite curious indeed." He hummed, beginning to put the rejected wands back into their boxes, seeming to know exactly which wand went in each. "I expect great things from you, Miss Potter."

She blinked once, slowly, before looking down at her wand. "So. Is there a good way to carry this thing?"

* * *

Kitty left the wand store 7 galleons and 15 sickles lighter, with wand in holster and a bag containing a wand box and polishing kit. The leather of the holster was tight against her arm, and she could already feel that it was going to get sweaty. She'd get used to it, though.

Kitty looked down at her list, frowning. There were... a lot of books. And if she were honest with herself, she'd be buying even more books if she could manage it. And what she couldn't manage, was to carry all those books, through the streets, and on the train, to number 4 Privet Drive, all on her lonesome. And even if Hagrid helped her get them there, what with his pockets, she still would need to get them to school. Somehow. And she doubted the Dursley's would help with that.

So... luggage, she assumed. Or just a backpack? Was there a wizard equivalent? She'd... probably have to ask Hagrid. Except Hagrid was in the Leaky Cauldron, and she was _not going back in there_. There was an ice cream parlor, and a confectionery, both of which had appeal. A cauldron shop— which... might get something out of the way, she supposed. A joke shop, which was interesting, certainly. And a book shop.

There was a _book shop_. A second-hand bookshop, right to the side of the Leaky Cauldron.

...If she went in there, she'd probably miss Hagrid when he finally came out of the Leaky Cauldron. Which would be rude of her, as he was her guide.

She glanced longingly at the bookshop, with its quiet shelves and uncrowded interior, before trudging over to Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. She... normally wasn't allowed ice cream.

But now she had money. Money— she reminded herself— that she should be responsible with, if only because literally nobody else would be enforcing her financial security. She wasn't Dudley.

The flavours were odd. Clotted cream, bat's blood, and fizzy fever were mixed in with more normal flavours, like chocolate chili and earl grey, and—thank-goodness— _vanilla_.

Kitty picked out a toffee and rose tea mix that looked just daring enough to try, and settled outside the shop at a small table with her back to the wall.

This entire trip was exhausting on multiple levels, and she'd only managed one item on her list so far.

...At least the ice cream was actually pretty good. She could do without the sour bits in the rose tea though.

Kitty settled in to watch people—everyone from the visibly rich blonde family that held themselves above everyone else, to a group of older boys in predominantly yellow and black accessories that were jostling each other in ways that vaguely reminded her of Dudley and his gang. A small family behind her, a mother with two younger children, were also enjoying their ice cream and chatting over inconsequential things such as Quidditch, Exploding Snap, Kitty Potter apparently being spotted in Diagon Alley, and something about the Nimbus 2000 racing broom.

It seemed, that despite whatever fame she had in Avalon, that she was not immediately recognizable. Probably due to this being the first time that she'd _been_ in Avalon. But sitting here, people watching, was almost... nice. And tying her limited world-view into knots, but so was everything else, and for the most part these people seemed like... people. Everything those people said and bought and interacted with, on the other hand, well... Kitty hoped beyond hope that everything would make sense eventually.

Ah, there was Hagrid. She took another bite of ice cream and stood up, making her way over to Hagrid, who noticed her. "Kitty! I see yeh found Florean Fortescue's! Great shop, that is. Did'ya get the toffee and rose tea there?"

Kitty winced at his volume, before looking down at her ice cream. Was the flavour truly so recognizable? She supposed that it did have a distinctive swirl. "The sour bits grow on you." Kitty politely did not add that rose tea was not supposed to be sour. "I'll likely need a trunk, or a school bag before we buy the rest of my things."

Hagrid seemed almost surprised at her words, before he nodded in what was probably supposed to be a decisive way. "I know jus' the place."

* * *

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky by the time they'd successfully completed the list, with the addition of a steamer trunk, enough parchment, quills, and ink to last her the year, two extra books, and...

"Hagrid, I don't need an owl."

"'Course yeh do- owls are dead useful. They carry yer mail, and make great companions. Don' tell me yeh never wanted a pet."

Kitty stared at him, then at the pet store they'd stopped in front of. "You also don't need to get me anything for my birthday." Which was just as big an issue really. She didn't know the man. Where did he get the idea he needed to buy her _anything_? It wouldn't do to owe him, and Aunt Petunia would throw a _fit_ if she came home with any sort of pet.

"I know I don' have to. Familiars are important, y'know. It won' hurt t' look about." He added.

Kitty sighed, looking at the store. She was tired—physically and emotionally and socially exhausted. Too tired, if she were honest, to fight the giant on this. "Fine."

Hagrid beamed. Kitty did the best to set him on fire with her eyes alone.

Aunt Petunia would _hate_ it if she got an owl. Then again, Aunt Petunia was going to be miserable to be around this next month anyhow. And Kitty always _did_ want a pet, even if she couldn't guarantee its safety from her family.

Except maybe now she could? Kitty set her jaw. It probably wouldn't take much- the Dursley's were terribly scared of wizards and witches, and with the threat of them even possibly stepping in on her behalf would set them far off the idea of harming her and hers. An implication here, an outright threat there... not to mention, as far as they were aware, now _Kitty_ knew she had magic for the first time. That probably had weight, too.

The inside of Eeylops Owl Emporium was a mess, with owls and cages and owls in cages everywhere. Even as she stepped in a barn owl _screamed_ at her from three feet away. She turned to stare at it, and it stared back, before flying off to the rafters in an apparent huff.

Huh.

Kitty looked at the front of the store, before turning and making her way through the narrow aisles, looking up at the rafters. ...There were a lot of owls. She had no idea how to go about picking one, or what the benefits were for the different breeds.

She huffed, studying a large grey bird that was perched on a cage in front of her. "I don't suppose you have any idea on how to go about this?"

The owl stared at her unblinkingly for a bit, before letting out a series of thin calls that reminded Kitty of a creaking door, before opening its wings and taking off for the rafters. Kitty took a step back. Its wingspan was easily larger than she was tall, which was... scary, if she were honest.

These were birds of prey. Predators capable of doing quite a bit of damage.

She huffed, glancing up at the owls that had gathered around her, and were studying her in turn. She took a step sideways and paused as each of their faces, and seemingly only their faces followed her movement. It was definitely creepy.

She looked them over carefully. Owls were supposed to carry mail. Presumably they all could. She had nothing to go on except appearances. But owls were animals. Beautiful, terrifying, intelligent animals, so she couldn't base her decision on appearances alone. They seemed almost communicative with her, too, which could very well be all a part of her imagination. "I need an owl that can carry and protect my mail against any that would try to intercept it. Who's smart, and strong, and who will be good company during downtime, since I assume we'll be seeing a lot of each other. But isn't that always the case," she mused. "I'd be your sole caretaker, anyhow. My family wouldn't be helping there, though I'm sure you can look after yourselves. You're _owls_." One of the owls let out a churring noise, almost as if it were laughing. Kitty felt rather silly. "I live in a... muggle household, so you'd have to deal with keeping out of sight of muggle guests since owls aren't normal pets." She paused, thinking it over. An snowy owl barked from the rafters. "I'd mostly be at Hogwarts anyway."

An almost silent beat of air alerted her to the owl that had landed beside her, studying her closely with pitch black eyes before it gently nodded its head with a half-hoot half-croon.

Kitty inwardly gave a sigh of relief. "You sure you want to come with me? I'm a celebrity, you know. I wasn't joking about people trying to intercept my mail." Her aunt and uncle might do it, if no one else.

The owl gave a solid hoot. It definitely understood her. Kitty smiled, holding her hand out. The owl nipped at her knuckles, gently, and she smiled, tracing the feathers above its beak. "Let's go tell Hagrid then."

* * *

Later that night Kitty sat in her bed, course books open around her. The Dursley's hadn't acknowledged her when she'd gotten home, though Kitty counted herself lucky they hadn't tried to lock her out. Diagon Alley, Avalon as a whole, was... a lot to take in. Too much to take in.

She curled into herself. Moving paintings, goblins, wands and magic, flying brooms. Some things were obvious.

Her fame...

Kitty could truthfully say she'd never wanted to be famous. But she could remember the sheer recognition and excitement in the eyes of those who did learn who she was—everybody from bar goers, to the seamstress at Madame Malkin's, to the occasional person on the street who'd been looking for her once it became known she was in the alley. It was a lot to live up to.

And now she had less than a month to prepare for Hogwarts, a boarding school with no easy way out. Full of people far more skilled than her who all had expectations about who she would be. Expectations she wasn't sure she would be living up to.

She felt very much like she was walking into the lion's den. Willingly.

But was it willingly? Every time she'd tried to run away they'd hunted her down and brought her back. They'd sent Hagrid when she'd tried to ignore their mailed invitation. She had limited options moving forward.

And so she was stepping into Avalon, face bare to the world, with barely any knowledge of what she was getting into.

Well. A lack of knowledge was something she could fix.

"Catherine Potter, better known as Kitty Potter, was born to James Potter and Lily Potter nee Evans, on July 31, 1980." Kitty read the sentence aloud. It didn't seem any less surreal for it, but she supposed it was rather definitive. The name she'd seen carved above her trust vault was her own, and not an ancestor's. Okay. She'd kind of expected that.

So why did it hurt so much? She put the book, _Modern Magical History_ down on the bed, sitting back against the wall.

A lack of knowledge was something she could fix. It had to be. Even if the lack of knowledge included her own name.

Her new owl—spotted, female—fluttered through her open window and over to her headboard, looking at her with dark eyes. There was blood on her beak and claws. Kitty—no _Catherine_ reached out to stroke the feathers on her neck, before tearing a strip of fabric from her shirt to wipe of the evidence of the owl's meal. The owl nipped at her fingers, and she gave a strained smile.

"This is going to be an adventure, isn't it?"

The owl let out something between a hoot and croon.

"You need a name, don't you?"

The owl didn't blink.

"I don't suppose I could just call you Owl?"

The owl narrowed her eyes.

"...I'll take that as a no."

Kitty sat back, discussing names with her owl, pointedly not looking at small passage in the book opened next to her on the bed. It was something to think about, names, and not just her owls. But she'd deal with the latter, first. It was less daunting.

 **AN: And here we have chapter 7, bless its heart. Special thanks to my beta-reader for putting up with me and helping me get this out here.**


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